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The  Twelfth  Juror 


The 

TWELFTH 
JUROR 


BY 

MARY  HARRIOTT  LARGE 


THE  C.  M.  CLARK  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Boston,  Massachusetts 

1908 


COPYRIGHT,  1908 

BT 

THE  C.  M.  CLARK  PUBLISHING  Co. 

BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS 

u.  a.  A. 


TO  MRS.  MARY  J.  RANDALL 

MY  FATHER'S  FRIEND  AND  MINE 

THIS  STORY   OF  THE  MOUNTAINEERS  OF 

DEAR  "OL'  KAINTUCK" 

IS  LOVINGLY  DEDICATED 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  stillness  that,  soon  after  the  setting 
of  the  sun  and  the  rising  of  the  mist,  drops 
like  a  pall  over  the  small  Kentucky  moun- 
tain villages  was  abruptly  rent  by  the  sharp 
peal  of  a  bell  hanging  in  the  courthouse 
tower.  Its  summons,  though  unprecedented 
at  so  late  an  hour,  was  obviously  not  unlocked 
for,  as  lights  at  once  began  to  gleam  in  the 
windows  of  many  of  the  humble  dwellings 
that  cluster  around  the  junction  of  the  two 
forks  of  the  Kentucky  river.  There  was 
the  clash  and  slam  of  house-doors  hurriedly 
opened  and  closed,  the  tread  of  feet  hasten- 
ing towards  one  point,  and  the  shrill  shriek 
of  the  old  iron  gate  that  bars  the  entrance 
to  the  county  square,  as,  pushed  back  upon 
its  rusty  hinges,  it  gave  admittance  to  the 
excited  men  who  impatiently  pressed  beyond 
it.  This  rare  nocturnal  disturbance  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  brief  period  of  silence,  and 
then,  once  more,  the  heavy  tramp  of  feet — 
accompanied  now  by  a  clamor  of  masculine 
voices  keyed  high  by  excitement — rose  and 
was  echoed  by  the  neighboring  cliffs. 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

While  the  sheriff  and  his  deputy  led  a 
third  figure  through  a  side  exit  from  the 
county  building,  and  over  tufts  of  neglected 
herbage  to  the  jail  that  stands  in  the  rear 
and  at  right  angles  to  the  larger  edifice, 
a  tall,  slender  man,  who  looked  older  than 
his  thirty  years,  ran  swiftly  down  one  of  the 
twin  stairways  that  connect  the  court  room 
in  the  second  floor  of  the  building  with 
the  open  vestibule  below,  and  evading  those 
of  his  fellow-villagers  who  lingered  in  the 
square  to  discuss  the  outcome  of  the  just 
ended  trial,  hastened  to  a  seldom  used  gate 
in  the  side  fence  of  the  enclosure.  Forcing 
this  barrier  and  its  clumsy  cannon-ball  weight 
a  few  inches  forward,  he  slipped  through 
the  gap,  and  choosing  the  worn,  heel-marked 
cut  across  the  unpaved  street,  was  in  a  moment 
opposite  the  old  well  beside  which  the  group 
or  disputants  was  now  reluctantly  separating. 
Quickening  his  pace,  the  young  man  hurried 
on,  unmindful  of  the  calls  of  "O  Bruce! 
Bruce  Patterson! — Just  a  minute,  Patterson!" 
from  those  by  whom  he  had  been  recognized. 
Entering  a  nearby  hotel  whose  dilapidated 
walls  had  sheltered  him  and  his  fellow- 
jurors  for  the  six  nights  that  the  law  held 
them  captive  in  the  room  devoted  to  the 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

use  of  the  state,  he  gathered  together  and 
hastily  crammed  into  a  satchel  such  of 
his  personal  belongings  as  had  been  sent 
to  him  for  his  comfort  during  that  period. 
After  putting  his  property  into  the  charge 
of  a  sleepy  night-clerk  to  be  kept  until  called 
for,  he  hastened  out  and  onward  over  the 
bridge  that  here  spans  the  deep  ravine  by 
which  Hollywood  is  bisected.  Looking  down 
over  the  bridge  railing,  he  had  a  fanciful 
impression  that  from  the  dimly  visible,  gently 
tossing  corn  blades  far  below  there  came 
to  him  the  reviving  chill  of  a  breeze  blown 
across  the  waves  of  some  inland  sea. 

Now  he  had  left  the  straggling,  tumble- 
down shacks  that  fringe  the  outskirts  of  the 
village  behind  him  and  stood  alone  on  a 
path  bounded  by  the  river  on  the  one  hand 
and  by  beetling  cliffs  of  limestone  on  the 
other.  Here  his  steps  slackened,  while  he 
drew  off  both  coat  and  collar,  and  inhaled 
deep  breaths  of  the  moist  night  air,  smiling 
the  while  in  sheer  joy  for  his  regained  freedom. 
As  he  halted,  the  full  moon  rose  majestically 
over  the  peaks  on  the  "yon  side,"  silvering 
the  veil  of  mist  with  which  the  Cumberlands 
muffle  their  heads  at  night,  and  casting  a 
broad  bridge  of  shimmering  radiance  across 

3 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  water  from  bank  to  bank.  In  the  tangled 
weeds  beneath  his  feet,  crickets  and  katydids 
added  their  strident  calls  to  the  mystic  mur- 
muring of  the  night;  in  overhanging  branches 
a  wakeful  nestling  twittered  plaintively  to 
its  crooning  mother  bird;  the  air  was  electric 
with  swarms  of  darting  fire-flies;  beyond 
the  bend  of  the  river,  the  measured  dip  of 
oars  made  an  undertone  for  the  strains  of  an 
old  chorus  sung  by  youthful  voices. 

When  the  loiterer  on  the  river-path  again 
started  forward,  he,  too,  hummed  the  familiar 
air,  but  soon  the  melody  died  away,  and 
notwithstanding  his  determined  effort  to 
wrench  his  mind  from  the  experiences  so 
recently  ended, — scenes,  incidents  and  words 
recorded  by  his  over-active  memory  within 
the  last  week  would  force  themselves  upon 
his  consciousness  with  exasperating  dis- 
tinctness. He  looked  back  now  with  a  kind 
of  self-pity  to  the  morning  when,  while 
detained  in  one  of  the  offices  of  the  county 
building  on  a  matter  of  private  business, 
the  sheriff  had  approached  him,  and,  in  the 
ponderously  jocose  manner  affected  by  that 
official,  had  bidden  him  "jes'  step  upstairs 
an'  lay  by  yore  hat."  Bruce  had  inwardly 
resented  the  officer's  familiarity  and  per- 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

sistence;  an  explanation  from  a  good-natured 
bystander  had  been  needed  to  make  it  clear 
to  Mr.  Patterson  that  back  of  the  clownish 
manner  and  the  clumsy  joke  was  the  formal 
summons  of  the  Commonwealth  to  one  of 
her  enfranchised.  He  had  finally  permitted 
himself  to  be  led  up  to  the  court  room,  with 
the  full  intent  of  ending  the  disagreeable 
episode  in  as  brief  a  period  as  might  be. 
The  presiding  judge,  who  came  from  one 
of  the  more  important  towns  up  the  river, 
was  an  old  family  friend,  and  would  not 
hesitate  to  accept  any  excuse  he  chose  to 
offer  for  evading  jury  duty. 

It  was  difficult  now,  though  he  recalled 
the  occurrences  of  that  day  so  clearly,  for 
the  young  man  to  fix  upon  the  precise  motive 
that  had  turned  him  into  a  diametrically 
opposite  course;  he  only  knew  that,  during 
the  tedious  examination  of  the  talesmen 
previously  summoned,  he  had  resolved  to 
make  no  excuse,  and,  if  unchallenged  by 
counsel  for  state  and  defense  in  the  most 
important  case  on  the  docket,  to  serve  as 
juror  in  a  trial  for  murder.  The  potent 
influence  may  have  been  the  recollection  of 
the  first  months  of  his  connection  with  a 
northern  university,  where  he  had  been  com- 


The  Twelfth  Jurvr 

Celled  to  permit  repeated  slurs  and  hos- 
tile criticisms  of  his  native  state  for  her 
record  of  unpunished  homicide  to  remain 
unanswered;  or  it  may  have  been  the  remem- 
brance of  his  dead  father's  lifelong  chagrin 
over  the  shameless  laxity  in  the  administra- 
tion of  law  in  the  Kentucky  highlands; — 
the  burlesque  trials — the  hung  juries — the 
ridiculous  inadequacy  of  such  sentences  as 
(in  rare  instances)  were  imposed  for  clearly 
proven  crime — and  the  untiring  efforts  the 
elder  Patterson  had  put  forth  to  bring  about 
a  reformation.  Bruce  had  himself  but  re- 
cently been  hot  with  indignation  on  hearing 
of  a  case  in  a  county  adjoining  his  home, 
where,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  proof 
of  murder  committed  had  been  shown  above 
all  doubt  or  cavil,  a  re-hearing  had  been 
granted,  after  which  the  second  jury  had 
returned  a  verdict  of  manslaughter,  and 
for  which  the  term  of  punishment  had  been 
made  two  years'  imprisonment.  The  sentence 
had  been  lightened  (because  of  good  conduct — 
as  the  most  lawless  of  mountaineers  becomes 
the  most  submissive  prisoner  if  captured — 
and  after  a  few  months'  confinement,  a 
hot-blooded  defier  of  all  law,  totally  dis- 
regardful  of  the  sanctity  of  human  life,  and 

6 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

a  sure  marksman,  had  been  liberated  and  free 
to  return  to  his  old  practices.  Feuds  had 
been  revived  and  he  had  become  a  menace  to 
all]  by  whom  he  might  consider  himself  ag- 
grieved even  in  trivial  matters;  but  especially 
so  to  the  [men  who  had  been  brave  enough  to 
testify  against  him,  and  to  those  who,  upon 
his  first  trial,  had  pronounced  him  guilty. 

Whatever  the  determining  cause  of  his 
action,  Mr.  Patterson  had  looked  up  at  the 
judge  and  shaken  his  head  in  response  to 
the  hastily  scribbled  words  that  dignitary 
had  sent  him.  He  had  been  the  last  man 
added  to  an  inordinately  large  panel — it 
is  with  great  difficulty  that  twelve  "good 
men  and  true,"  unbiased  by  kinship,  by 
fealty  to  the  unwritten  law  of  the  feuds, 
or  any  other  circumstance  or  scruple,  can 
be  selected  from  the  scattered  population 
of  this  sparsely  peopled  region — and  it  was 
not  until  the  day  was  drawing  to  its  close, 
and  after  a  catechism  much  less  searching 
than  that  to  which  the  men  examined  earlier 
in  the  proceedings  had  been  subjected,  Bruce 
Patterson  was  accepted  by  both  state  and 
defense,  and  delivered  into  the  custody  of 
the  sheriff  as  the  twelfth  juror. 

His    first    night    of    absence    from    home 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

while  engaged  upon  this  novel  duty  had 
been  one  full  of  interest.  While  idly  speculat- 
ing upon  his  wife's  reception  of  the  tidings 
that  her  husband  had  been  forced  to  pay 
one  of  the  assessments  the  government  exacts 
in  return  for  the  privilege  of  the  franchise, 
he  had  chuckled  like  any  schoolboy  at  the 
thought  of  her  panic  over  the  manner  in  which 
he  and  the  other  jurymen  were  herded  in 
one  room  of  the  old  hotel  where  the  juries 
of  the  county  had  been  housed  for  years. 
When  he  turned  his  attention  to  his  com- 
panions, he  found  the  personality  and  speech 
of  his  eleven  mates,  most  of  whom  came 
from  "a- way  up  yander"  (as  the  moun- 
taineer is  apt  to  locate  his  habitation)  even 
more  unique,  more  darkly  stained  by  the 
dyes  of  a  bygone  period  than  he  had  ever 
before  deemed  them. 

At  the  opening  of  court  on  the  following 
morning,  Bruce  took  his  seat  in  the  jury- 
box  with  no  regret  for  the  impulse  that 
had  led  him  thither,  but  with  sensations 
of  keen  expectancy  for  the  ordeal  that  now 
confronted  him.  He  knew  little  of  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar  except  his  name — Judson 
Tyree — for  the  case  was  one  of  those  trans- 
ferred from  another  county  for  more  impartial 

8 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

hearing,  and  while  distance  in  this  region 
is  short  if  measured  "  as  the  crow  flies,"  it 
is  long  when  reckoned  by  the  time  required 
to  get  from  one  locality  to  another.  The 
murdered  man  had  been  a  revenue  officer 
and  a  justly  incensed  government  was  ready 
to  make  strenuous  endeavor  to  punish  this 
one  of  a  long  list  of  like  offenses.  What 
evidence  there  was  against  the  accused  man 
was  of  a  purely  circumstantial  character — 
there  had  been  no  witness  to  the  act — and 
abundant  testimony  was  to  be  offered  in 
rebuttal  as  to  the  prisoner's  record  as  a 
quiet,  law-abiding  man. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  trial  by  jury,  when 
news  travelled  but  slowly,  the  jurymen  were 
chosen  from  the  witnesses  to  the  crime, 
and  total  ignorance  of  even  collateral  facts 
would,  of  course,  have  disqualified  a  man 
for  jury  duty.  In  these  later  years,  when 
reports  of  the  most  trivial  happenings  are 
flashed  from  pole  to  pole  almost  within 
the  instant  of  their  occurrence,  and  when 
to  be  unposted  as  to  the  most  minute  detail 
of  all  that  is  transpiring  at  the  earth's  remotest 
bound  implies  either  callous  indifference  to 
contemporary  history,  or  absolute  illiteracy, 
the  law  requires  that  every  man  who  acts 

9 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

as  juror  shall  be  uninformed  as  to  the  crime 
upon  trial. 

During  the  second  day  in  the  court  room, 
Mr.  Patterson  found  that  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty he  could  hold  his  attention  to  the  meagre 
evidence  extorted  from  terror-stricken  indi- 
viduals, who  were  in  turn  tortured,  bullied 
and  insulted,  and  whose  drawling  admissions 
were  distorted  and  tangled  in  a  mass  of 
utterly  irrelevant  matter.  Fortunately  for  his 
equanimity,  Bruce  had  on  previous  occasions 
been  a  spectator  of  the  amazing  machinery 
of  the  modern  tribunal  of  justice;  he  had 
before  been  auditor  to  the  exchange  of  vitu- 
peration between  prosecuting  and  defending 
attorneys;  he  had  long  since  learned  that 
trickery,  chicanery  and  melodramatic  appeal 
are  the  foundation  stones  for  the  oratorical 
structures  erected  by  the  up-to-date  lawyer. 

He  was  drowsy  and  dull  for  want  of  sleep. 
His  second  night  of  captivity — penned  in 
the  one  room  with  the  eleven  other  men, 
from  whose  hot,  unbathed  flesh  exuded  an 
acrid  odor,  intensified  in  its  nauseating  quali- 
ties by  the  fumes  that  rose  from  their  soiled 
garments  and  the  stench  of  the  home-cured 
tobacco  they  all  smoked — had  not  been  cal- 
culated to  induce  rest.  During  the  evening 

10 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

he  had  been  forced  to  listen  and  laugh  ai 
tiresome,  obscene  jokes,  while  every  fibre 
of  his  being  was  demanding  a  cold  plunge 
and  a  clean  bed.  One  of  his  room-mates, 
after  watching  him  perform  such  ablutions 
as  were  possible  under  existing  circumstances, 
was  moved  to  protest  against  this  unnecessary 
laving  of  one's  skin  at  bedtime,  and  to  show 
resentment  for  what  he  chose  to  regard 
as  an  implication  against  the  personal  hab- 
its of  the  other  occupants  of  the  crowded 
chamber. 

"Thar's  one  thing  yo'  can't  wash  ofFn 
yo'  nary  mite,  Bruce  Patterson,  with  all 
yore  scrubbin',"  he  asserted  at  last  with 
an  angry  wag  of  his  tousled  head;  "yore 
pap  was  a  mountin  man,  an'  yo'  air  sure 
a  mountin  boy,  hair,  hide  an'  tallow." 

When  conversation  finally  ceased,  the  air 
was  made  sonorous  by  lusty  snores  and 
the  jangle  of  bells  on  the  necks  of  restless 
cows  lying  on  the  ground  just  below  the 
window,  mingled  with  the  squeals  of  a  litter 
of  pigs  in  a  tumble-down  sned  in  the  rear 
of  the  hotel.  Besides  its  overplus  of  human 
occupants,  the  room  was  also  populated  by 
insects  of  the  carnivorous  species,  and  sleep, 
that  at  the  beginning  of  the  night  had  been 

11 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

an  impossibility,  at  its  close  was  a  horror. 

The  examination  of  the  witnesses  was 
prolonged  beyond  all  precedent,  the  character 
and  antecedents  of  the  dead  officer  being 
as  minutely  inspected  as  those  of  the  prisoner, 
and  as  the  nights  were  duplicates  of  each 
other  as  to  physical  discomfort,  by  the  fourth 
day  of  the  trial,  Juror  Patterson  found  it 
futile  to  try  to  concentrate  his  weary  senses 
on  the  slow  progress  of  the  case.  In  spite 
of  himself,  his  thoughts  would  wander  to 
the  songs  sung  by  children  in  a  neighboring 
school,  or  drift  into  idle  speculation  as  to 
the  vintage  of  the  headgear  (the  word  hat 
hardly  described  some  of  the  nondescript 
articles)  that  hung  on  the  pegs  in  the  wall 
just  back  of  the  judge's  bench.  He  was 
often  assailed,  too,  by  doubts  that  had  long 
been  his,  as  to  whether  the  continuation 
of  the  trial  by  jury  is  in  accord  with  the 
progress  the  world  has  made  along  other 
lines. 

It  was  during  this  fourth  day  of  the  trial 
that  an  incident  roused  him  to  a  more  acute 
realization  of  his  share  of  responsibility  in 
deciding  the  fate  of  the  man  accused  of 
murder.  As  his  roving  glance  happened  to 
fix  itself  upon  Tyree's  head — bent  low  over 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

his  chest — the  prisoner  suddenly  lifted  his 
eyes  and  let  them  run  from  one  to  another 
of  the  jurymen  until  they  lighted  upon  Bruce's 
face.  Then  for  a  long  second  the  two  pairs 
of  eyes  were  riveted  upon  each  other,  as 
by  some  invisible  influence,  and  as  Tyree 
again  lowered  his  head,  Bruce  felt  his  own 
heart-beats  quicken,  for  he  believed  he  had 
received  a  mute  confession  of  guilt.  From 
that  moment  on,  the  attention  of  the  twelfth 
juror  was  unswervingly  set  upon  the  pro- 
ceedings in  the  court  room. 

The  trial  dragged  to  its  conclusion.  In 
verbose  arguments  the  opposing  counsel  did 
all  they  could  to  cloud  and  befuddle  the 
minds  of  the  men  with  whom  lay  the  outcome; 
and  in  his  charge,  the  iudge  had  still  further 
confused  them  by  dwelling  upon  the  phrase 
"reasonable  doubt." 

In  the  room  devoted  to  the  deliberations 
of  the  jurors,  Bruce  was  promptly  elected 
foreman,  and  took  the  chair  with  the  firm 
belief  that  in  a  brief  period  his  self-elected 
duty  to  the  Commonwealth  would  be  as  a 
tale  that  is  told.  To  his  dismay,  the  first 
ballot  taken  revealed  a  wide  divergence  of 
opinion.  Only  four  had  voted  with  him — 
five  had  cast  their  votes  for  acquittal  and 

13 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

two  had  not  voted  at  all.  The  foreman 
spent  all  that  night  in  reading  the  transcribed 
evidence  to  the  others,  explaining  and  reason- 
ing as  he  read.  One  noary-headed  high- 
lander  blankly  refused  to  take  any  part  in 
the  discussion,  but  after  voicing  his  opinion 
that  "all  them  revenues  was  durned  sKunks 
— he  'lowed  the  more  bullets  that  was  popped 
through  their  hides  the  better,"  he  threw 
himself  upon  a  cot  and  was  soon  asleep. 

In  the  struggle  with  these  alert  but  untrained 
minds,  Bruce  felt  all  his  power  for  logical 
demonstration  and  subtle  persuasion,  which 
had  gained  him  notoriety  in  his  student 
days,  awaken  within  him.  His  task  was 
a  double  one,  for  not  only  had  much  of  the 
language  of  the  record  that  he  read  to  be 
translated  into  words  and  phrases  familiar 
to  these  sons  of  the  mountains,  but,  at  times, 
he  was  obliged  to  practically  transpose  the 
thought  back  of  the  words  into  a  key  more 
in  accord  with  the  simple  life  harmony  of 
these  "  belated  ancestors  of  ours." 

The  Kentucky  mountaineer  has  but  a 
rudimentary  imagination;  with  him,  as  with 
his  forbears,  yea  means  yea  and  nay  nay. 
He  has  not  yet  attained  that  breadth  of 
thought  that  recognizes  the  intermediate  shades 

14 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

between  the  black  of  the  one  and  the  white 
of  the  other  as  legitimate  color.  Below 
the  surface  of  things  with  each  of  the  eleven 
men,  lay  the  unspoken  fear  of  what  might 
be  the  result  to  himself  if  any  verdict  was 
returned.  This  unacknowledged  factor  had 
also  to  be  met  and  overthrown. 

As  the  hands  of  the  clock  moved  on,  the 
foreman's  determination  that  some  verdict 
was  to  be  reached  crystalized  into  adamant, 
and  as  all  conclusions  to  be  arrived  at  by 
means  of  the  testimony — even  ignoring  that 
wordless  message  that  he  believed  he  had 
received  from  the  prisoner's  eyes — to  his 
mind  pointed  the  one  way,  he  made  prodigal 
use  of  his  ability  for  arranging  and  presenting 
facts  in  such  sequence  as  to  mould  the  views 
of  his  auditors  upon  the  same  pattern  as 
his  own.  As  the  hours  of  the  next  day 
rolled  by,  opposition  to  his  pleas  grew  more 
and  more  feeble  and  finally  ceased.  During 
that  evening  the  sheriff  was  notified  that 
the  jury  were  ready  to  report,  the  bell  in 
the  tower  sent  its  summons  out  into  the 
darkness,  and,  before  those  who  assembled 
at  its  call,  Foreman  Patterson  announced 
that  the  jury  found  the  prisoner  guilty 
of  the  crime  of  which  he  stood  charged — 

15 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

murder. 

Bruce  then,  as  before  stated,  slipped  away 
from  those  who  lingered  to  discuss  this  first 
verdict  of  wilful  murder  that  had  been  re- 
turned in  that  county  for  many  a  year.  He 
longed  to  be  alone;  but  while  escape  from 
his  fellowmen  was  easily  accomplished,  he 
could  not  so  readily  evade  the  legions  of 
doubts  and  queries  which  he  put  to  himself. 

Sentence  had  been  postponed  until  the 
following  day,  and  while  Bruce  knew  that 
he  was  in  no  wise  accountable  for  the  punish- 
ment prescribed  by  the  statutes,  a  strife 
between  his  sense  of  justice  triumphant  and 
his  sympathy  for  the  condemned  man  fairly 
unnerved  him.  As  he  hurried  homeward, 
he  tried  to  quell  these  thronging  anxieties 
bv  the  theory  that  the  manifold  problems 
with  which  his  overwrought  brain  was  teem- 
ing were  the  natural  outcome  of  physical 
and  mental  fatigue;  of  his  need  for  sleep 
and  wholesome  food,  and  with  all  his  heart 
he  rejoiced  that  his  home  was  near. 

He  wondered  what  welcome,  Letitia,  his 
wife,  would  give  him.  The  trial  and  all 
therewith  connected  would  be  void  of  any 
interest  for  her,  as  the  two  years  that  had 
elapsed  since  he  brought  his  northern  bride 

16 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

to  his  Kentucky  home  had  drawn  her  into 
no  ties  of  intimacy,  or  even  bonds  of  acquaint- 
anceship, with  his  mountain  people.  She 
filled  her  days  with  reading  and  desultory 
study,  with  experiments  in  house  decoration, 
and  with  long  epistles  written  to  her  northern 
relatives  and  friends,  among  whom  she  in- 
sisted on  spending  much  of  each  year. 

She  was  yet  less  familiar  with  this  walled- 
off  region  of  her  native  land,  its  old-time 
customs,  its  unusual  standards  and  its  obsolete 
phraseology,  than  she  was  with  the  speech 
and  habits  of  the  populations  of  far  distant 
continents.  Her  husband  well  knew  that 
her  welcome  to  him  now  would  depend  on 
the  extent  his  six  days'  absence  from  home 
had  interfered  with  her  personal  plans  and 
comfort,  and,  wholly  exhausted  as  he  was, 
he  could  but  hope  that  he  had  not  been 
greatly  missed. 

At  last  he  arrived  at  the  tree  whose  rugged 
bole  divides  the  wagon  road  up  the  moun- 
tain side,  and  turned  into  a  narrow  footpath 
that  led  across  the  wooded  approach  to  his 
own  door.  He  could  see  a  light  streaming 
from  one  of  the  windows  of  the  dwelling 
built  by  his  great-grandfather;  a  few  more 
steps  and  the  air  was  rent  by  a  wild  howl, 

11 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

and  "Meh  Lady,"  his  huge  St.  Bernard, 
was  bounding  towards  him,  fawning  and 
leaping  upon  him  in  wild  exuberance  of 
delight.  At  the  bark  of  the  dog,  one  of  the 
house  doors  opened  and  the  light  from  within 
illuminated  the  porch  and  the  path  along 
which  he  was  hastening.  Then  a  voice 
called  doubtfully:  "Bruce?".  .  .  and  Letitia 
stepped  into  sight,  dainty  and  serene,  shading 
the  lighted  candle  she  held  with  one  slim 
palm. 

"Oh!  It  is  you"  she  exclaimed  as  the 
man  sprang  towards  her.  "Pah!  how  you 
smell  of  stale  tobacco  smoke!  Down,  Lady! 
Turn  the  dog  out — she  will  tear  us  to  bits. 
I  thought  I  heard  a  bell  some  time  ago, 
but  I  was  not  positive.  Come  in!"  and  she 
led  the  way  into  the  house. 

Her  husband  as  he  followed  her  was  played 
upon  by  a  medley  of  emotions.  There  was 
disappointment,  and  there  was  sardonic  amuse- 
ment that  there  should  be  disappointment; 
there  was  appreciation  of  the  charm  of  the 
woman's  person  and  garb — and  above  all 
there  was  a  sense  of  relief  that  his  welcome, 
if  somewhat  cold,  had  not  been  unfriendly. 
Letitia  took  her  seat  at  the  desk  where  she 
had  evidently  been  writing  when  interrupted 

18 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

by  his  coming,  and  carefully  blew  out  the 
candle  she  had  carried  to  the  door,  while 
Bruce,  drawing  a  chair  nearer  hers,  caught 
one  of  her  hands  and  held  it  imprisoned 
in  both  his  own. 

"How  have  you-all  been,  and  how  is 
everything  ?"  he  asked  with  a  smile. 

"We-afl  have  been  as  peart  as  common, 
I  reckon,"  she  mocked. 

Bruce  laughed.  "You  will  have  your  old 
task  to  perform  again,  I  fear,"  he  said. 
"There  is  no  telling  how  many  errors  of 
speech  I  may  have  re-acquired  during  the 
past  week.  There  were  moments  when  I 
was  mighty  glad  I  had  not  entirely  forgotten 
the  mountain  dialect."  His  wife  sat  silent. 
She  had  drawn  her  hand  from  his  and  was 
nervously  moving  the  papers  about  on  her 
desk. 

"Don't  you  feel  any  curiosity  about  the 
trial  in  which  your  husband  acted  as  twelfth 
juror,  Letitia  ?'  Bruce  asked  jokingly. 

"I  have  been  deeply  interested  in  it," 
she  returned  to  his  surprise, — "immensely 
interested."  Then,  after  another  silence  she 
added:  "Judson  Tyree's  wife  and  children 
are  staying  out  here  now — in  Aunt  Philomee's 
cabin.  I  thought  it  best  to  have  them  here — 

19 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

there  was  so  much  that  I  could  do  for  them. 
Mrs.  Tyree  has  talked  with  me  about  this 
crime  of  which  her  husband  is  accused, 
and  I  knew  there  could  be  but  the  one  verdict. 
I  felt  sure  that  after  all  those  fine  speeches 
of  yours  in  the  old  university  days,  you 
would  not  suffer  a  disagreement.  I  told 
her  so." 

"No,"  he  replied  and  his  lips  set,  "I 
fought  hard,  but  I  fought  to  win." 

"I  was  sure  it  would  be  so,"  she  rejoined, 
and  her  gray  eyes  softened  and  rested  upon 
him  with  a  glow  of  pride  in  their  depths. 
"I  have  not  forgotten  your  skill  in  debate. 
I  knew  these  mountain-men  would  have 
to  succumb.  And  when  can  the  poor  man 
join  his  family  and  take  them  back  home? 
Aunt  Philomee  has  acted  in  the  most  un- 
reasonable way  about  having  them  in  her 
cabin." 

"Join  his  family?  Take  them  back 
home  ?"  echoed  Bruce  vacantly. 

"Yes.  When  will  Tyree  be  released — 
tomorrow?  I  know  there  are  legal  formali- 
ties that  have  to  be  observed." 

Bruce  stared  dumbly  into  the  now  bril- 
liant eyes  that  were  questioning  his. 

"  Why  do  you  not  answer,  Bruce  ?"    Letitia 

30 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

exclaimed  impatiently,  her  brow  furrowed 
by  frowns.  Then — in  changed  tones — "You 
cannot  mean  .  .  .  why  .  .  .  tell  me  .  .  . 
what  was  the  verdict  ?" 

"Our  verdict  was  guilty,"  he  replied,  all 
the  light  that  his  home-coming  had  kindled 
in  his  face  and  voice  dying  out. 

"Guilty?"  she  cried,  and  he  saw  her 
brows  contract  more  closely  and  her  eyes 
harden.  Then,  without  word  or  sign,  she 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  fled  into  the  hall 
and  up  the  stairway. 

"  Letitia!"  called  her  husband  as  he  followed 
her,  "Letitia!  Listen!  Letitia!" 

She  rushed  into  her  room  and  flung  the 
door  to  in  his  face. 

"Letitia!  he  plead,  leaning  heavily  against 
the  door-frame. 

The  only  response  from  within  was  the 
click  of  the  bolt  as  it  shot  into  its  socket. 


CHAPTER  II 

COWED  and  heartsick,  Bruce  looked  at 
the  closed  door,  fighting  down  the  impulse 
that  bade  him  force  the  lock  and  demand 
an  explanation  for  his  wife's  repulse;  but 
his  was  the  temperament  that  shrinks  in 
dismay  from  even  the  suggestion  of  an  open 
quarrel,  from  any  determined  assertion  of 
one's  individual  claims. 

He  was  of  that  ultra-sensitive  class  who 
choose  to  dwell  under  lowering  clouds  and 
inhale  fetid,  murky  air,  rather  than  welcome 
the  fury  of  a  storm  that  can  both  cleanse 
and  heal.  He  was  painfully  conscious  of 
his  ever  increasing  disability  to  combat  with 
Letitia's  strong  will.  Conscious  of  the  grow- 
ing ease  with  which  she  could  control  his 
actions,  at  times  even  his  thoughts,  when 
she  fastened  her  scintillant  eyes  directly 
upon  his,  and,  when  alone,  the  trend  of  such 
weak  submission  took  shape  before  his  mental 
vision,  he  made  fervent  resolves  to  end  such 
conditions — resolves  that  in  his  wife's  pres- 
ence were  apt  to  become  mere  emotions 
of  rebellious  disquiet. 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

As  he  stood  still  hesitant,  he  heard  his 
name  called  softly  from  the  further  end 
of  the  hall,  and  turning  in  automatic  response, 
upon  his  tired  eyes  there  dawned  a  vision — 
a  young  girl,  warm  and  rosy  from  her  bath, 
her  mop  of  tousled,  red-gold  hair  framing 
a  piquant,  charming  face,  leaned  from  a 
partly  opened  door  and  beckoned  to  him. 
This  vision  was  swathed  in  long  draperies 
of  a  pale  blue  tint  and  a  silky  texture,  that, 
falling  apart  here  and  there,  gave  glimpses 
of  underlying  folds  of  snowy  cambric  and 
lace,  and  of  a  pair  of  small,  high-arched 
bare  feet  thrust  into  run-down  and  otherwise 
disreputable  slippers. 

"You,  Cousin  Bruce!  Come  here!"  com- 
manded the  vision  in  an  imperious  whisper, 
and  as  the  man  moved  towards  her,  the 
girl  sprang  out  into  the  hall,  flung  both 
arms  around  him  and  pressed  her  soft  cheek 
to  his. 

"How  heavenly  it  is  to  have  you  back 
again,"  she  cried.  "It  has  seemed  an  age 
since  you  left.  I  was  morally  certain  that 
you  would  come  back  last  evening,  you  silly  boy, 
and  I  coaxed  Aunt  Phil  to  cook  up  all  sorts 
of  nice  things  for  your  supper.  She  would 
only  let  us  have  the  tiniest  smidgeon  of 

23 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

anything  because  she  wanted  to  save  it  all 
for  you.  And  then  you  didn't  come!  Oh! 
She  was  mightily  indignant,  I  can  tell  you, 
sir,  when  you  failed  to  appear,  and  I  have 
been  afraid  even  to  look  towards  her  today. 
But,  come  along!  There's  sure  to  be  some- 
thing or  other  in  the  ice-box.  Let's  go 
down  and  forage.  I'm  always  about  famished 
after  washing  my  hair,  and  you  must  be  half 
starved,  you  poor,  tired  soul!"  and  Bruce 
was  dragged  along  by  the  clinging  arms, 
while  a  faint,  flower-like  odor  rose  to  his 
nostrils  from  the  damp  curls  bobbing  so  near. 

"I  hope,"  continued  the  girl,  as  the  two 
entered  the  dining-room  where  Bruce  struck 
a  match  and  lighted  the  hanging  lamp, 
"I  do  surely  hope  that  that  poor  wretch 
you-all  have  been  tormenting  will  have  a 
good  supper  tonight,  too.  Or  will  they  not 
let  him  go  before  morning  ?" 

"Did  you  say  let  him  go,  Joyce?"  turning 
to  her  from  the  lamp. 

"Yes.  Loosen  nis  chains  and  fetters,  if 
they  use  such  things  nowadays,  and  set 
him  free.  Cousin  Letitia  reckoned  maybe 
they  wouldn't  release  him  before  tomorrow." 

"Hardly  then,"  her  cousin  answered,  the 
light  that  had  been  stealing  over  his  features 

24 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

dying  out  again;  "hardly  then,  for  he  was 
proven  guilty." 

"Guilty?"  gasped  the  girl,  turning  pale. 

"You  didn't Oh!  Were  you 

quite  sure  ?" Then  as  she  noticed 

the  weary  droop  of  his  body  and  the  dark 
circles  beneath  his  eyes,  she  pushed  him 
into  a  chair  with  a  return  of  her  former 
manner  and  said:  'There!  We  are  not 
to  think  about  him  tonight.  You  sit  still 
and  I  will  go  hunt  through  the  pantries 
and  see  if  I  can't  scare  up  a  feast  that  will 
make  you  forget  your  riotous  living  at  the 
Spencer  House." 

She  disappeared,  and  the  man  sat  where 
she  had  placed  him,  his  faculties  half  be- 
numbed, yet  with  a  subtle  sense  of  physical 
well-being  creeping  over  him.  When  his 
cousin  Joyce  returned,  she  carried  a  tray 
on  which  stood  a  tall  bottle  and  two  glasses, 
a  small  platter  of  cold  fried  chicken,  some 
beaten  biscuit  and  a  bowl  of  berries. 

"That  is  'ary  mite'  that  can  be  raked 
and  scraped,"  she  announced,  setting  the 
tray  down  on  a  table  near  him.  "  Told 
you  that  Aunt  Philomee  was  disgruntled. 
She  did  everything  yesterday  in  honor  of 
the  return  of  the  prodigal — except  kill  the 

25 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

fatted  calf.  That  animal  had  been  promised 
to  Toppy — that  was  all  that  saved  it — and 
then  you  didn't  appear,  as  any  well-behaved 
prodigal  should.  Come,"  as  Bruce  sat  motion- 
less, ''eatin'  done  ready,"  and  she  gave 
him  a  little  push  and  then  went  round  and 
took  a  seat  at  the  table  opposite  his. 

"As  aforesaid,  I'm  well  nigh  famished 
myself,"  she  announced  with  a  laugh  as  she 
helped  herself  to  one  of  the  chicken  bones 
and  began  to  nibble  at  it. 

Bruce  looked  across  at  this  personifica- 
tion of  budding  womanhood  that  faced  him. 
He  had  never  yet  wakened  to  a  full  conscious- 
ness that  his  little  Cousin  Joyce,  who  had 
lived  in  his  home  almost  from  her  infancy, 
had  already  passed  the  point  where  the 
child  meets  the  woman,  and  was  blossoming 
into  beauty  that  was  fairly  intoxicating.  An 
unacknowledged  regret  for  his  action  of 
three  years  previous,  that,  like  the  pang 
of  an  incuraole  wound,  never  ceased  but 
was  rarely  insistent,  suddenly  became  poign- 
ant. The  young  girl's  tender  solicitude  for 
his  comfort,  her  gracious  thought  for  all 
his  needs,  pressed  upon  chords  of  his  nature 
hitherto  mute.  A  beguiling  thought  of  what 
a  home-coming  might  have  meant  for  him 

26 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

if  only  ...  he  had  been  less  passive  .  .  . 
acted  on  his  exhausted  senses  like  wine. 
From  the  depths  of  his  eyes  flashed  a  light 
never  before  seen  there.  He  leaned  across 
the  intervening  space  and  laid  his  hand 
on  one  of  the  dimpled  arms  that  rested  on 
the  table.  "Joyce!  Joyce!"  he  whispered 
hoarsely. 

The  girl  drew  her  arm  away  nervously 
and  shrank  back  in  her  chair,  instinctively 
folding  her  loose  draperies  more  closely  about 
her. 

"Why,  Cousin  Bruce!"  she  stammered 
in  embarrassment,  raising  her  dark  eyes  to 
his  glowing  gaze  as  frankly  as  though  she 
were  still  the  tiny  maid  that  had  been  brought 
to  share  his  home  fifteen  years  before. 

The  man  flushed  with  shame  and  then 
laughed  foolishly.  "Don't  listen  to  what 
I  say,  don't  mind  what  I  do  tonight,  Joyce, 
my  dear  kinswoman,"  he  said  earnestly  after 
a  tense  silence.  "  I  am  so  worn  out  physically 
and  mentally  that  I  am  no  longer  responsible. 
You  talk  to  me.  Tell  me  all  that  has  hap- 
pened since  I  have  been  away.  How  many 
more  of  those  Blue  Grass  young  men  have 
discovered  the  wonderful  charm  of  our 
mountains  ?" 

27 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

The  girl  blushed  and  bridled,  all  her 
serenity  restored.  A  dimple  that  lurked  near 
the  left  corner  of  her  mouth  came  and  went 
and  went  and  came  again  before  she  replied. 

"  You  had  two  visitors  last  Sunday,"  she 
finally  said  with  a  glance  full  of  mischief; 
"at  least  they  asked  for  you  when  they 
came  and  were  mighty  sorry  not  to  find  you 
here." 

"And  you  had  to  console  them  for  my 
absence  as  best  you  could,"  he  retorted 
dryly.  "  And  how  about  David  Carroll  ? 
Was  he  so  almighty  sorry  to  miss  me  when 
he  came,  also?"  trying  to  swallow  some 
of  the  food  she  kept  urging  upon  him. 

"I  have  seen  nothing  of  Mr.  Carroll  for 
days,"  she  answered,  trying  to  assume  an 
air  of  lofty  indifference,  "except  in  church 
with  his  Aunt  Nora  last  Sunday.' 

"And  I'll  warrant  you  flaunted  your  Blue 
Grass  beaux  between  him  and  his  prayers," 
said  Bruce,  bent  on  banishing  from  her 
mind  that  one  mad  moment  that  was  the  out- 
come of  circumstances  and  not  of  any  real 
emotion.  "Careful,  Joyce!  David's  a  fine 
fellow,  if  he  does  keep  in  harness  longer 
than  we  deem  necessary.  You  may  be  quite 
sure  of  one  thing,  little  girl.  My  guardian- 

28 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

ship  hitherto  may  have  seemed  somewhat 
careless,  and  mistakes  may  have  been  made 
that  could  have  been  avoided,  perhaps,  but 
when  it  comes  to  giving  this,"  and  he  touched 
her  hand  lightly,  "to  any  one,  I  am  going 
to  be  sure  that  no  mistake  is  made." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  be  given  to  any 
one,  ever,  Cousin  Bruce.  I  want  to  stay 
with  you  here  always,"  coming  round  to 
him,  laying  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and 
bending  her  head  down  to  his,  "if  you  and 
Cousin  Letitia  are  willing  to  have  me.  I 
reckon  no  one  will  ever  take  me  for  a  gift, 
anyhow — no  one  that  counts." 

Bruce  looked  up  quickly. 

"It  will  have  to  be  some  one  who  counts 
and  counts  high,"  he  asserted  emphatically. 
"I'm  not  so  sure  that  Sir  Galahad  himself 
could  get  you  with  my  consent  and  blessing." 

"Sir  Galahad!"  she  mocked.  "I  wouldn't 
be  given  to  any  man  who  did  not  know 
how  to  mount  his  horse." 

They  laughed  together  over  the  old  joke 
about  the  famous  picture  of  the  young  knight, 
and  then  there  was  a  silence  until,  with  a 
changed  tone  and  expression,  the  man  asked: 

"Tell  me,  Joyce,  why  both  you  and  my 
wife  thought  the  prisoner,  Tyree,  would 

29 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

be  acquitted.  Do  you  believe  him  innocent  ?" 
"I  hardly  know,"  answered  the  girl  slowly. 
"  I  reckon  I  just  believed  what  Cousin  Letitia 
told  me.  You  know  Mrs.  Tyree  has  been 
staying  out  here  for  two  or  three  days.  Some 
one  brought  her  over  from  Troublesome 
with  her  baby  and  little  boy,  and  she  was 
staying  with  her  kin  over  the  river  when 
Cousin  Letitia  heard  of  her  in  some  way 
and  had  her  come  out  here.  Cousin  Letitia 
has  taken  one  of  her  tremendous  fancies 
to  them,  or  to  doing  for  them,  and  has  put 
them  into  Aunt  Philomee's  cabin  for  the 
time.  My!  but  there  was  a  row!  Mrs.  Tyree 
is  very  handsome  in  a  gypsy-like  fashion, 
but  you  simply  can't  conceive  any  one  more 
lazy  or  slovenly  than  she.  The  poor  baby 
did  need  care  the  worst  way,  and  the  boy, 
about  six  or  seven  years  old,  is  a  perfect 
dear — just  too  bright  for  anything.  Aunt 
Phil  announced  that  she  *  wouldn't  sleep 
under  the  roof  with  no  such  low-down  white 
trash,'  so  she  has  been  using  Topp's  bed 
and  I  reckon  Toppy  and  Jum  have  been 
sleeping  on  the  floor.  We  all  thought  Mr. 
Tyree  would  be  released  and  take  them 
back  to  their  own  home  in  a  few  days,  and 
I  don't  see  just  what  will  be  done  now.  But 

30 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

you  look  tired  to  death,  and  must  not  talk 
about  other  people's  troubles  any  more. 
Go  up  to  bed  at  once,"  and  she  gathered 
the  scattered  dishes  on  the  tray.  "Hold 
a  light  for  me  a  minute,  Cousin  Bruce,  and 
I  will  set  this  back  in  the  kitchen." 

Bruce  rose  and  took  the  tray  from  her 
hands  and  carried  it  out  himself.  When 
he  came  back,  the  two  walked  together  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  where  they  halted. 

"Better  come  right  up,"  Joyce  advised, 
as  she  saw  he  was  intending  to  remain  below. 
"You  look  as  if  you  needed  a  week's  sleep." 

"I  wish  I  might  have  it,"  he  responded 
fervently.  "I  won't  stay  up  long.  Good 
night,  ma  belle  cousine.  Happy  dreams!" 

"Good  night,  mon  beau  cousin!  Sweet 
repose!"  she  replied  saucily,  while  she  leaned 
over  the  banister  and  patted  the  top  of  his 
head. 

When  she  was  out  of  sight,  Bruce  returned 
to  the  room  where  he  had  talked  with  his 
wife,  and  where  a  light  still  burned.  He 
threw  himself  heavily  into  a  chair  and  tried 
to  face  the  cloudy  future.  Past  experience 
had  taught  him  what  any  active  disagreement 
with  Letitia's  opinions  meant  for  him;  he 
was  unfortunately  familiar  with  the  petty, 

31 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

undignified  means  by  which  she  expressed 
her  displeasure.  The  color  rose  in  his  cheeks 
as  he  recalled  occasions  since  his  marriage 
when  his  wife's  manner  towards  him  had 
been  that  of  a  tyrannical  mother  disciplining 
a  naughty  child.  Again  and  again  he  had 
passively  endured  her  autocratic  rule  rather 
than  be  subjected  to  one  of  those  mortifying 
scenes — mortifying  not  to  him  alone,  he  ad- 
mitted with  a  spasm  of  mental  nausea,  but 
to  every  one  made  an  involuntary  spectator 
of  such  belittling  passages.  He  had  seen 
wonder  and  dismay  creep  into  the  eyes  of 
his  life-long  friends  at  his  subservience  to 
his  wife's  whims — a  dismay  that  sometimes 
changed  to  poorly  concealed  disgust — and 
to  make  no  protest  against  unkind  judgment, 
to  attempt  no  explanation  for  his  inexplica- 
ble attitude  to  those  whom  it  wounded  or 
affronted,  these  were  elements  in  his  repara- 
tion to  his  unloved  wife  on  which  he  had 
not  reckoned.  It  was  his  desire  that  no  one 
should  suspect  that  the  secret  of  his  strange 
conduct,  of  his  false  position  in  his  household, 
was  that  he  had  no  love  for  the  woman  who 
had  married  him,  but  the  fact  that  no  one 
did  suspect  it — least  of  all  Letitia  herself — 
puzzled  him. 

32 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

He  was  so  thoroughly  exhausted  tonight 
that  his  faculties  were  blunt,  and  though 
he  pondered  over  what  he  had  learned  during 
the  last  hour,  he  only  speculated  vaguely 
as  to  what  Tyree's  wife  could  have  told. 
Letitia  was  always  so  intense  in  her  partizan- 
ship  and  so  extreme  in  her  prejudices  that, 
so  far  as  her  disagreement  with  the  verdict 
was  concerned,  he  felt  no  disquiet.  It  was 
the  doubts  of  himself,  of  his  judgment,  of 
how  far  he  had  been  biased  in  weighing 
the  evidence  by  his  desire  that  for  once,  at 
least,  a  mountain  murder  should  be  followed 
by  lawful  punishment — that  disturbed  him. 
He  wished  it  had  been  possible  for  him 
to  talk  with  this  mountain  woman  whose 
story  had  convinced  not  only  Letitia  but 
Joyce,  and  he  knew  not  how  many  others. 
During  a  stay  in  the  North  some  months 
previous  he  had  been  interested  in  certain 
experiments  made  by  a  psychologist  to  prove 
the  diversity  of  effect  the  same  cause  produces 
on  different  minds,  the  conclusion  being 
that  the  human  senses  are  unreliable.  That 
being  once  granted,  how  could  any  one 
assume  to  judge  the  acts  of  his  fellow  ?  What 
if —  after  all — Tyree  were  not — but  he  realized 
that  he  was  fast  drifting  into  slumber,  and 

33 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

with  an  effort  roused  to  sufficient  conscious- 
ness to  get  upon  his  feet,  turn  out  the  light 
and  stumble  up  the  stairs  to  his  room,  where 
he  tore  off  his  garments  and  threw  himself 
upon  the  bed,  and  merciful  oblivion  claimed 
him. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  WAVE  of  critical  comment  had  surged 
around  the  ears  of  the  elder  Patterson,  when, 
after  the  graduation  of  his  son  and  only 
child,  Bruce,  from  a  preparatory  school  in 
one  of  the  cities  of  his  native  state,  a  rumor 
had  been  circulated  that  it  was  the  father's 
intention  to  have  the  young  man  enter  a 
northern  university.  Many  of  the  hostile 
criticisms  were  made  to  him  direct,  for  Hiram 
Patterson,  owner  of  the  Hollywood  coal 
mines,  was  a  man  whom  all  respected  but 
few  feared,  but  he  had  only  laughed  and 
joked  in  reply.  It  was  only  with  the  old 
doctor  of  the  community,  a  contemporary 
as  well  as  a  cherished  friend,  that  he  discussed 
the  subject  with  any  seriousness,  and  to  the 
practitioner's  characteristic  explosions,  the 
mine-owner  had  replied  calmly : 

"Well,  I  allow,  Doctor,  that  we-all  down 
this-a-way  have  been  living  on  corn-pone 
and  ash  cake  a  mighty  long  while;  a  change 
to  light  bread  may  be  a  good  thing  for  the 
boy,  physically  and  mentally.  Eh  ?" 

~iat  if  the  young  cuss   learns   to   like 

35 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

their  light  bread  so  well  that  he  loses  his 
taste  for  corn-pone  altogether?"  queried  the 
physician,  leaning  forward  to  shake  his  pipe 
over  the  great  wood-fire  before  which  the 
two  old  comrades  sat,  before  refilling  it. 

"Let  him  stay  up  there  and  eat  it,"  was 
the  quick  retort.  Then  with  conviction :  "  If 
he  should  turn  out  that  sort  of  a  man,  the 
Yanks  are  welcome  to  him.  I  didn't  say 
I  wanted  him  to  live  on  light  bread  alone, 
did  I  ?  But  this  everlastin'  and  eternal  parcel- 
in'  our  country  into  the  light-bread  section 
and  the  hot-bread  section  is  bound  to  end 
directly,  and  maybe  that  end  would  come 
about  a  mite  the  sooner  if  each  of  us  was 
a  le-etle  more  ready  to  taste  the  other's  victuals 
— material  and  otherwise. 

"  Did  it  ever  strike  you,  Doc,  that  the  men 
who  made  the  greatest  todo  against  per- 
mitting the  southern  states  to  withdraw  from 
the  Union,  and  most  actively  opposed  any 
division  of  our  common  country,  have  been 
the  very  ones  who,  since  General  Lee's 
surrender,  have  done  the  most  to  keep  alive 
the  smoldering  embers  of  sectional  animosity  ? 
Curious,  ain't  it  ?" 

"Nothing  is  too  damned  queer  for  those 
old  Puritans.  You  and  I  can't  be  too  thank- 

36 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

ful,  Hi,  that  no  grandfather  of  ours  squeezed 
himself  and  his  kin  and  all  the  family  pots 
and  kettles  and  cradles  and  clocks  into  the 
Mayflower.  I  reckon  the  crowding  the  Pil- 
grim Fathers  and  Mothers  got  on  that 
voyage  of  theirs  cramped  their  brains  as 
well  as  their  limbs,  and  their  narrow  minds 
have  been  handed  down  to  posterity  along 
with  a  lot  of  other  rubbish.  That's  why 
the  folks  up  there  are  so  bigotty  and  opinion- 
ated, I  take  it.  They  can't  see  more  than 
one  side  to  anything,  unless  it's  a  dollar, 
— -and  they  clutch  that  so  tight  that  heads 
and  tails  come  near  being  on  the  same  side." 
"Well,  well,  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Patterson, 
pacifically;  and  then,  after  the  two  had 
smoked  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  he 
continued:  :<  We've  got  to  admit,  we  men 
of  the  Kentucky  mountains,  that  our  corner 
of  the  nation  has,  somehow  or  the  other, 
fallen  out  of  ranks  in  the  general  march 
forward.  It  is  for  the  younger  generation 
to  take  hold  now  and  lift  it  back  into  its 
proper  place  in  the  procession.  That's  what 
I  am  planning  to  have  Bruce  ready  to  do. 
The  boy  has  that  gift,  rarer  now  than  it  used 
to  be,  a  golden  tongue,  and  I  want  him 
trained  to  use  it  for  the  betterment  of  con- 

37 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

ditions  right  here  in  these  mountains.  The 
mines  will  yield  him  an  income,  so  there 
is  no  need  for  fitting  him  for  actual  bread- 
winning,  and  I  want  him  taught  the  best 
methods  of  probing  into  the  festering  sore 
of  our  sectional  politics,  of  cleansing  and 
healing  it.  I  want  him  able  to  lead  reforms 
in  our  commercial  and  social  codes — yes, 
in  our  laws  and  the  administration  of  them." 

The  medical  man  smiled  grimly.  "Good 
Lord,  Hi!"  he  ejaculated.  "If  you  aim  to 
train  him  for  a  reformer,  he'll  have  to  develop 
other  sets  of  muscles  besides  those  of  his 
tongue.  A  reformer!  If  that's  the  route 
you're  mapping  out  for  him,  he'll  have  to 
toughen  up  his  fists  ....  and  his  heart, 
too,  I  reckon,"  he  concluded  with  a  sigh. 

So  the  younger  Patterson  had  gone  from 
his  home  and  for  four  years  had  eaten  the 
light  bread  of  the  North.  He  had,  at  the 
time,  but  partially  realized  his  loneliness 
among  his  countrymen,  who  held  aloof  from 
him  as  from  an  alien.  He  had  felt  pangs 
of  real  heartsickness  for  the  wild  beauty 
of  his  native  hills  and  forests;  for  the  river 
and  its  rafts;  for  life  free  from  meaningless 
forms;  for  a  people,  who,  notwithstanding 
grievous  blemishes  in  manner  and  morals, 

38 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

in  spirit  approached  the  type  once  set  as 
the  ideal  for  all  races  and  all  time — "as  a 
little  child." 

For  the  first  two  years  of  his  stay  at  the 
university,  the  young  Kentuckian  had  re- 
mained an  unmarked  unit — somewhat  above 
the  average  student  in  scholarship — but  void 
of  any  ambition,  any  desire  for  a  high  rank; 
with  a  good-humored  "cm  bono"  for  the 
hard  grind  of  one  set  of  his  mates,  and  another 
(less  amiable)  for  the  subterfuges,  the  eva- 
sions, the  shirking  of  all  responsibility  of  the 
other  set. 

It  was  early  in  his  junior  year  that,  at 
a  reunion  of  the  fraternity  he  had  joined 
— more  to  please  the  few  men  who  had 
shown  him  marked  friendliness  than  from 
any  inclination  of  his  own — a  call  was  sud- 
denly made  upon  him  to  respond  to  the 
toast — "An  Undivided  Country."  Fired  by 
his  theme,  spurred  by  the  prick  of  unconcealed 
amusement  displayed  by  many  present  that 
a  southern  man  should  have  to  handle 
such  a  sentiment,  his  words  had  roused  all 
hearers  unto  wildest  enthusiasm.  He  had 
stood,  the  embodiment  of  two  wellnigh  extinct 
species — the  orator  and  the  patriot,  and 
with  convincing  argument,  had  shot  the 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

arrows  of  truth  straight  to  the  heart  of  fraudu- 
lent statecraft.  His  fearless  arraignment  of 
the  practices  of  the  leading  politicians  of 
the  day  had  been  published  in  full  by  the 
papers  of  the  adjoining  metropolis,  with 
the  result  that  within  a  week  the  young 
Kentuckian  had  emerged  from  obscurity  into 
the  glare  of  an  associated  press,  his  opinions, 
his  photograph  and  the  pattern  of  his  shirts 
being  published  all  over  the  land  for  the 
edification  of  the  people. 

During  his  earlier  student  life,  Bruce  had 
noticed  a  girl,  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
university  professors,  whose  personality  per- 
vaded the  social  life  of  the  campus  at  that 
period  like  some  subtle  odor — pleasing  to 
some,  disagreeable  to  others,  but  recognized 
by  all.  Letitia  Phelps  was  not  a  beauty, 
not  even  pretty,  as  were  many  of  the  young 
girls  in  the  families  of  the  faculty.  She 
had  a  trim,  erect  figure,  a  well-shaped  head 
covered  with  dark  hair,  and  the  delicate 
coloring  of  the  typical  New  England  maid. 
The  most  distinguishing  characteristic  of  her 
face  was  a  certain  peculiarity  about  the 
muscles  of  her  long  grey  eyes,  by  which 
a  scintillant  effect  was  given  the  iris,  which 
appeared  to  fairly  rotate  at  times  behind 

40 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

her  long  black  lashes,  and  to  suggest  the 
mysterious  and  the  occult  to  one  who  looked 
directly  into  them.  The  girl's  will  was  strong 
and  uncurbed;  and  while  her  impulses  were 
often  generous  and  praiseworthy,  she  was 
apt  to  act  upon  them  with  no  serious  con- 
sideration of  result.  She  delighted  in  making 
donations,  and  would  give  of  her  own  posses- 
sions, or  of  the  goods  and  chattels  of  others 
if  so  be  she  could  levy  upon  them,  to  any 
who  begged  an  alms  of  her,  undeterred  by 
the  possibility  that  by  so  doing  she  might  be 
creating  a  need  more  urgent  than  that  which 
she  had  in  mind  to  supply.  She  had  been 
known  to  sweep  the  family  breakfast  from 
the  table  and  despatch  it  by  one  of  the  maids 
to  relieve  an  uninvestigated  chronicle  of 
destitution  that  had  caught  her  notice  in 
a  sensational  morning's  journal,  oblivious 
of  and  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  her  father 
had  been  at  work  in  his  study  for  hours 
and  was  faint  for  lack  of  food,  and  that 
her  mother's  day  was  one  of  nervous  disquiet 
if  the  prescribed  routine  of  domestic  service 
was  set  awry. 

She  was  spasmodic  in  her  partizanship, 
and  a  ready  disciple  of  any  movement  that 
had  caught  public  attention,  and  as  incon- 

41 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

sistent  in  her  private  application  of  the 
theories  promulgated  by  the  endless  "move- 
ments" as  are  most  of  such  easily  won  con- 
verts. She  was  of  the  number,  who,  while 
vehemently  applauding  the  principles  of  social 
equality,  hasten  to  burn  the  modest,  pen- 
written  card  that  poor  Mrs.  Lazarus  has 
dropped  in  the  tray  with  sincere  regret  to 
find  her  old  friends  away  from  home  on 
the  afternoon  she  had  hoped  for  a  pleasant 
visit,  but  who  manage  that  the  engraved 
announcement  that  the  Misses  Dives  have 
sent  in  from  their  carriage,  by  a  footman, 
shall  lodge  in  a  spot  where  all  who  run 
may  read  this  evidence  of  distinguished 
acquaintance. 

She  loved  celebrity,  however  garbed,  and 
after  the  young  Kentuckian's  unanticipated 
burst  of  splendid  oratory  had  thrust  him 
into  focus  of  the  public  eye,  she  was  untiring 
in  her  friendly  overtures  to  him  and  in  invita- 
tions to  her  home.  Being  a  southern  man, 
he  could  only  meet  courtesy  with  its  like, 
and  as  he  fancied  he  found  a  resemblance 
in  Mrs.  Phelps  to  the  mother  he  had  lost 
when  a  lad  of  twelve,  and  already  there 
existed  between  Professor  Phelps  and  him- 
self a  timid  mutual  esteem,  his  visits  to  the 

4ft 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

house  of  this  member  of  the  faculty  soon 
outnumbered  all  those  he  made  elsewhere. 

During  his  senior  year  he  saw  much  of 
Letitia,  but  in  spite  of  a  certain  fascination 
she  exercised  over  those  who  knew  her  wisely 
and  not  too  well,  his  feeling  for  her  warmed 
to  nothing  more  than  an  appreciative  interest 
in  a  hitherto  unknown  type  of  womankind, 
and,  to  his  chum,  had  he  had  one,  he  might 
have  confided  that  there  was  an  intangible 
something  about  the  girl  that  made  him 
uneasy. 

Two  years  after  his  graduation,  he  re- 
visited his  alma  mater  on  some  jubilee 
occasion  and  there  met  Miss  Phelps  again. 
The  four  years  that  had  passed  since  their 
first  acquaintance  had  brought  keen  disap- 
pointment to  the  woman.  Younger,  more 
adaptable  maidens  were  now  installed  in 
her  former  seat  of  supremacy  in  the  social 
life  of  the  university.  The  frantic  intensities, 
the  spasmodic  inconsistencies  that  had  been 
laughingly  excused  or  overlooked  in  the 
young  girl,  were  pronounced  silly  and  offen- 
sive in  the  maturing  woman.  The  scepter 
she  had  once  wielded  so  arrogantly  had 
fallen  from  her  grasp. 

It  was  a  chastened  and  subdued  Letitia 

43 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

who  pressed  forward  to  congratulate  Mr. 
Patterson  at  the  end  of  an  oration  that  was 
a  fulfilment  of  what  his  youthful  efforts 
had  promised,  and  with  her  flattery  she 
coupled  so  cordial  an  invitation  to  revisit 
her  home,  that  Bruce  could  hardly  have 
refused  to  be  her  guest  even  had  he  been  so 
inclined.  He  was  glad  of  the  opportunity 
to  renew  his  friendship  with  the  Professor 
and  Mrs.  Phelps,  and  was  conscious  of  the 
change  in  Letitia,  of  the  partial  obliteration 
of  the  too  heavily  traced  outlines  of  her 
individuality  that  left  her  more  companion- 
able. It  was  as  though  a  potent  agency 
had  erased  the  assertive  tints  of  her  character, 
or  as  if  a  screen  had  been  drawn  over  a 
garish  light. 

The  Phelps  dwelling  was  a  temple  of 
restful  lines  and  harmonious  color,  and  its 
outward  satisfactoriness  was  supplemented 
by  hospitality  as  sincere,  if  not  as  insistent, 
as  that  of  his  native  mountains;  and  on 
his  return  to  this  atmosphere  of  artistic 
perception  and  deep  reflection,  after  months 
during  which  he  had  tried  to  squeeze  himself 
back  into  an  outgrown  environment,  Bruce 
naturally  exaggerated  its  value  and  meaning 
to  him.  Be  that  as  it  may,  many  of  the 

44 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

hours  to  which  his  brief  stay  in  the  university 
town  was  limited  were  spent  with  the  Phelps 
family,  and  later  on  he  joined  them  at  a 
seaside  resort. 

It  would,  perhaps,  have  been  impossible 
for  him  to  have  given  any  clear  explanation 
as  to  when  and  how  the  rumored  engagement 
between  Letitia  and  himself  became  a  fact. 
His  father's  death  during  the  previous  year 
had  left  the  Hollywood  home  empty  save 
for  himself  and  the  presence  there  in  her 
vacation  weeks  of  the  girl  cousin  who  had 
been  brought  in  her  orphaned  babyhood 
to  be  one  of  "Uncle  Hi's"  household,  and 
a  recollection  of  those  untenanted,  crude, 
beauty-lacking  rooms  in  contrast  with  the 
comfort  and  fine  finish  of  the  Phelps  menage 
had,  undoubtedly,  its  influence.  He  deemed 
the  tastes,  habits  and  ambitions  of  this  young 
New  England  woman  as  more  nearly  akin 
to  his  own  than  those  of  any  one  he  could 
hope  to  find  nearer  his  home,  and  while 
he  recognized  that  his  heart — that  is,  the 
heart  the  poets  sing  of, — was  quite  untouched, 
he  was  flattered  by  Letitia's  avowed  pref- 
erence and  happy  in  the  companionship 
of  herself  and  her  family.  So  he  drifted 
beyond  the  point  where  a  return  to  former 

45 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

conditions  was  possible,  and  the  engagement 
was  announced. 

On  the  woman's  part,  she  had  directed 
her  mysterious  orbs  upon  her  future,  had 
seen  herself  sinking  into  social  nonentity 
in  her  parents'  home,  and  was  ready  to  grasp 
at  the  chance  to  escape  from  such  a  fate. 
She  was  tremendously  ambitious,  and  she 
believed  that  under  her  guidance  the  Ken- 
tuckian  could  win  the  place  and  prominence 
she  longed  for.  She  appreciated  his  ability, 
and  sympathized  with  his  desire  to  be  a 
factor  in  the  movement  for  general  uplift, 
but  she  was  resolved  that  his  efforts  should 
not  be  confined  to  the  sparsely  settled,  little- 
known  district  that  he  called  home.  In 
her  selfish  way  she  really  loved  the  man, 
and,  as  her  knowledge  of  conditions  in  the 
southern  states  had  been  mostly  gleaned 
from  old-fashioned,  out-of-date  books  and 
stories,  on  her  mental  vision  formed  pleasing 
tableaux  of  a  large  estate  overrun  by  dark- 
skinned  servants,  over  whom  she  would 
reign  as  queen  during  such  seasons  of  each 
year  as  it  seemed  wisest  to  spend  down 
there.  In  her  heart  there  was  the  determina- 
tion that  after  marriage  Bruce  should  estab- 
lish himself  nearer  the  center  of  national 

46 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

activities,  where  with  least  delay  he  could 
rise  to  prominence  and  wealth. 

Both  husband  and  wife  had  wakened 
from  these  pre-nuptial  dreams  to  widely 
different  realities.  Bruce  had  discovered  the 
lawless  will  that  lurked  back  of  his  wife's 
black  brows;  he  had  learned  that  below 
the  highly  polished  veneer  of  outward  seem- 
ing there  were  ugly  scars  of  selfishness, 
snobbery  and  jealousy.  To  Letitia  the  unpre- 
tentious homestead  in  the  Cumberlands,  which 
lacked  most  of  the  luxuries  of  the  urban 
dwelling  and  much,  as  well,  that  she  had 
grown  to  consider  the  necessities  of  decent 
living,  presented  no  compensations.  The 
local  population,  ignorant  of  the  world  beyond 
their  horizon,  uncouth  in  manner,  frankly 
superstitious,  unimaginative,  yet  "simple, 
natural,  honest,  sane,  earthy;  and  of  the 
earth,  from  which  springs  the  oak,  and  in 
time,  maybe,  the  flower  of  civilization," 
were  each  and  all  abhorrent  to  her.  She 
had  been  an  ardent  disciple  of  those  who 
preached  and  wrote  of  the  "simple  life," 
but  she  was  blind  to  the  fact  that  here,  at 
her  very  door,  were  its  genuine  exponents. 

Her  design  that  her  husband  forsake  his 
birthplace  for  a  northern  home  crystallized 

47 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

into  inflexibility.  To  no  purpose  did  Bruce 
repeat  to  her  his  father's  wish  and  his  own 
intention;  in  vain  did  he  essay  to  point  to 
her  the  need  of  a  Joshua  to  lead  these  high- 
landers  from  the  wilderness  of  isolation  and 
illiteracy  in  which  they  had  so  long  wandered. 
Before  the  curl  of  Letitia's  lip,  under  the 
spell  of  her  strange  eyes,  his  lifelong  aims 
and  ambitions  took  the  semblance  of  quixot- 
ism, of  sheer  folly.  Like  many  another 
misled  soul,  he  classed  self-abnegation  as 
unselfishness,  and  lost  sight  of  the  verity 
that,  at  times,  supreme  unselfishness  demands 
an  unyielding  insistence  of  one's  individuality, 
its  rights  and  purposes,  and  that  all  attempts 
to  juggle  with  the  Eternal  Scales  bring 
disaster  sure  and  far  reaching. 

His  opposition  to  his  wife's  demand  that 
he  sell  out  the  Hollywood  mines,  and  so 
break  the  material  bond  that  held  him  to 
this  region,  grew  more  and  more  feeble; 
and,  though,  so  far,  she  had  not  been  able 
to  compel  him  to  take  any  decisive  step 
toward  the  accomplishment  of  that  end, 
he  had  become  conscious  of  his  decreasing 
ability  to  cope  with  her  will,  and,  at  times, 
when  alone,  the  realization  of  the  degree 
of  control  she  exercised  over  his  volition, 

48 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

fairly  appalled  him.  During  the  trial  of 
Tyree,  ne  had  decided  that  this  almost 
involuntary  action  on  his  part  should  be 
a  turning  back  to  the  path  that  had  been 
mapped  out  for  him  in  boyhood,  and  among 
the  thoughts  that  ran  riot  in  his  mind  on  his 
homeward  walk  had  been  the  resolution 
that  having  now,  once  again,  put  his  hand 
to  the  plow,  he  would  not  be  turned  away 
from  following  it. 

He  well  knew  what  the  announcement 
of  such  a  determination  would  bring  down 
upon  him  before  his  wife  would  be  convinced 
that  it  was  irrevocable,  but  that  she  should 
take  any  personal  interest  in  the  trial  of  Tyree 
had  been  far  from  his  mind.  He  was  aware 
of  the  attitude  she  assumed  towards  all  the 
mountain  folk — he  had  watched  the  erection 
of  the  wall  of  miscomprehension  and  mutual 
dislike  that  stood  between  her  and  his  fellow 
highlanders,  but  that  Letitia  would  seize  upon 
the  verdict  as  a  new  weapon  with  which 
to  combat  the  remaining  scraps  of  his  loyalty 
to  the  place  of  his  birth  was  an  idea  unguessed 
by  him.  That  she  would  wield  it  against 
whatever  might  still  prevent  his  entire  deser- 
tion of  his  native  state,  was  a  menace  to  his 
resolve  to  henceforward  be  among  those 

49 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

who  were  working  for  long-needed  reforms 
in  the  observances  of  this  region.  Only 
absolute  physical  exhaustion  prevented  him 
from  torturing  himself  with  these  thoughts 
all  through  that  night. 


50 


CHAPTER  IV 

AUNT  PHILOMEE,  the  colored  cook,  who 
had  been  a  feature  in  the  Patterson  kitchen 
since,  as  a  round-eyed  pickaninny,  she  had 
"toted"  hot  dishes  from  her  mother's  ovens 
to  the  family  table,  mounted  the  stairs  the 
morning  after  the  end  of  the  Tyree  trial, 
holding  a  kettle  of  hot  water  with  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  a  tray  on  which  stood  a 
small  coffee-pot  and  a  cup  and  saucer.  She 
had  carried  these  things  to  Bruce's  bedside 
each  morning  that  he  awoke  in  his  own 
home,  since  the  day  he  had  reached  an  age 
that  qualified  him  for  the  privilege  of  drinking 
the  stimulating  beverage. 

The  stout  old  woman  climbed  slowly  from 
step  to  step,  grunting  and  grumbling  below 
her  breath  all  the  way  up.  Aunt  Philomee's 
grievances  always  numbered  legion,  her  special 
cause  of  offense  against  an  over-ruling  prov- 
idence now  being  the  northern  mistress,  who 
had  been  installed  some  two  years  previous  in 
the  vacant  chair  of  "po'  Mis'  Ann  Mary," 
Hiram  Patterson's  wife,  who  had  passed  away 
when  Bruce  was  a  boy  of  twelve. 

51 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Had  Letitia  been  an  angel — and  her  most 
besotted  admirer  had  never  claimed  angelic 
attributes  for  her — Aunt  Phil  would  still 
have  been  a  rebellious  servant,  as  she,  herself, 
had  practically  presided  over  this  home  for 
so  many  years.  As  matters  stood,  there 
was  incessant  hostility  and  bickering  between 
the  two.  Unfortunately,  Letitia  over-esti- 
mated her  executive  ability  and  was  totally 
lacking  in  a  comprehension  of  the  laboring 
class.  The  older  generation  of  negro  servants 
in  the  South,  those  who  can  still  recall  con- 
ditions "befo*  de  wa',"  are  as  unerring  in 
their  judgment  of  those  whom  they  are  called 
upon  to  serve  as  is  a  good  horse  in  estimating 
the  capability  of  his  driver.  An  animal 
of  intelligence  knows  intuitively  whether  the 
person  who  holds  the  reins  is  an  experienced 
horseman  or  no;  whether  he  is  a  man  who 
will  seek  to  accomplish  most  with  the  least 
strain  on  the  muscles  of  his  beast,  or  is  but 
a  conceited  ignoramus,  sawing  at  the  bit 
and  plying  the  whip,  and  by  his  senseless 
action  wasting  the  power  he  desires  to  put 
to  account,  and  forfeiting  the  confidence 
of  the  animal. 

The  old  negress  accorded  herself  many 
privileges,  and  this  morning  on  Bearing  no 

52 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

response  to  her  knock,  she  quietly  turned 
the  door-knob  and  admitted  nerself  to  her 
master's  room.  After  a  short  survey  of 
the  sleeper  on  the  bed,  she  set  down  her 
tray  and  kettle,  and  gathered  together  and 
began  to  examine  the  garments  that  Bruce 
had  dropped  in  a  huddle  the  previous  night. 

"Um-huh,"  she  wheezed  as  she  shook 
each  garment  out  in  turn.  **  Reckon  I  gwine 
hab  a  regla'  ol'  trampoose  wif  dese  yere 
clo'es.  Don't  want  no  little  visito's  from 
dose  Spencer  House  beds  a-comin'  to  call 
on  ou's — dat  we  don'.  I  'spec'  Toppy  kin 
fix  up  dis  yere  suit  fo'  Jum  to  wea',"  and 
she  threw  the  trousers  over  her  plump  arm. 

"Howdy,  Aunt  Phil,"  muttered  a  sleepy 
voice  from  under  the  bedcovering;  "what 
are  you  doing  with  my  clothing  ?" 

"Howdy,  Marse  Bruce!  Fo'  don'  wan' 
dem  clo'es  no  mo';  dey  ain'  fitten  fo'  yo' 
to  wea'.  I  des  reckonin'  dat  Toppy  might 
ai'  an'  wash  'em  out  good,  an'  mebbe  conjuh 
a  coat  out  of  'em  fo'  little  Pat  next  winteh. 
Dat  chile's  a-growin'  so  fas'  he'll  be  bustin' 
out  of  he  daddy's  clo'es  next  thing  we  knows. 
Law  sakes!"  with  a  sniff,  "no  chile  ain' 
gwine  ketch  no  whoopin'  cough,  no'  mumps, 
no'  measles  if  he  once  wea'  dese  yere  clo'es, 

53 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Smell  like  tobacco  leafs  been  wove  spang 
into  'em.  Cou'se,  if  yo'  mean  yoj  want 
'em,"  doubtfully,  and  with  a  contemptuous 
toss. 

"Why,  come  now,  what's  the  matter  with 
that  suit,  Aunty?  They  are  soiled  and  tum- 
bled a  trifle,  but  they  are  perfectly  good 
and  whole.  I  will  keep  them  to  wear  down 
at  the  mines  if  you  say  they  are  not  fine 
enough  for  you  up  here.  The  men  will 
not  object  to  the  odor  of  good  tobacco." 

The  old  woman  turned  her  great  bulk 
in  his  direction,  disgust  and  feigned  astonish- 
ment in  her  mien. 

"Yo'  aimin'  to  wea*  dose  clo'es  yo'se'f, 
Marse  Bruce  Patt'son  ?"  she  asked.  "  We- 
ell!  Times  is  suah  'nough  changed  since 
yo'  po'  mothe's  day.  Mis'  Ann  Ma'y  neveh 
lowed  he'  boy  to  put  on  such  a  frazzled- 
out,  tacky  suit  as  dat!  No,  Suh!  Not  in 
de  darkest  cornde'  ob  de  mines!"  Then 
seizing  upon  the  opportunity  offered  for 
further  airing  her  woes,  she  went  on :  "  Dar's 
no  countin'  on  what  white  folkses  down 
dis-a-way  gwine  do  now-days;  comin'  an' 
a-tu'nin'  a  'spectable  puhson,  a  membeh 
of  de  fambly  spang  out-a  she  own  home 
to  make  room  fo  de  lowdownest  white 

54 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

trash  in  de  mountains.  Yes,  Suh!"  working 
her  stout  body  up  and  down,  her  ire  rising 
with  each  word — "I  des  wan*  to  know  how 
long  she  gwine  to  stay  in  dar — dat's  what 
I  wan'  ask  yo'.  I  didn't  tell  Mis'  Patt'son 
dat  she  can'  do  dat-a-way  while  yo'  been 
done  gone,  but  now  yo'  back  whar  yo'  b'longs, 
I  des  asks  yo'  how  long  she  gwine  stay  dar. 
Ef  I  gwine  be  run  outen  de  house  Marse  Hi 
give  me  fo'  a  gif  when  I  bin  mah'ed,  I'se 
boun'  to  know  hit  now." 

"  Now,  Aunt  Philomee,  that  is  all  nonsense," 
said  Bruce,  raising  his  head  from  the  pillow 
to  face  the  angry  woman.  ;<You  know 
perfectly  well  that  no  one  is  going  to  ask 
you  to  give  up  your  home.  There  is  plenty 
of  room  there  now  that  you  do  not  use,  and 
it  was  natural  to  suppose  that  you  would 
be  willing,  that  you  would  enjoy  having 
a  little  company  now  that  you  are  alone 
over  there  so  much." 

"Dat  depen's  on  who  de  comp'ny  is, — 
yes,  suh,"  slightly  mollified.  "Hit's  de  lone- 
somdes'  kin'  of  lonesome  to  be  'bliged  to 
stay  wif  folkses  yo'  got  no  use  fo';  an'  I 
mus'  get  mo'  grace  befo'  I  can  stan'  to  lib 
wif  such  a  somebody  as  dat  ar." 

"But,"    remonstrated    Bruce,    who    loved 

55 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

to  tease  her,  and  who  knew  that  the  old 
woman  made  great  pretensions  of  modelling 
her  conduct  on  Bible  precepts,  "you  believe 
in  obeying  what  the  Scriptures  teach,  and 
they  tell  you  to  love  the  stranger  and  to  be 
given  to  hospitality,  whereby  many  have 
entertained  angels  unawares." 

For  a  moment  she  made  no  reply,  and 
her  great  eyes  rolled  from  side  to  side  as  if 
looking  for  some  opening. 

"De  Bible  may  say  dat  'bout  strangehs," 
she  said  at  last.  '  Fo'  says  hit  does — I 
ain'  come  to  dat  tex*  vet.  But  I  knows 
hit  says  not  to  be  a-castin'  ou'  peahls  befo* 
swine,  an'  de  preache'  'splain  to  me  dat 
peahls  means  de  bestest  dat  we  got;  an*  if 
a  good,  sweet  razah-back  ain'  boun*  to 
'preciate  ou'  peahls  sooneh  dan  dat-ar  frowzy- 
headed,  slummicky,  goddessalibe'ty  " 

"Come,  Aunty!  Don't  be  foolish,"  in- 
terrupted Bruce.  "I  will  try  to  see  today 
about  getting  some  other  place  for  Mrs. 
Tyree  to  stay,  if  you  do  not  want  her  with 
you.  She  will  probably  go  to  her  home 
very  soon,  anyway.  Take  the  suit  with 
you,"  as  the  old  woman  lingered.  "I  shall 
not  want  it  again — I  was  only  joking." 
Then  as  she  picked  up  the  garments  from 

56 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

where  she  had  thrown  them,  he  added: 
"Please  take  the  tray,  too.  My  head  aches 
so  badly  that  I  shall  not  drink  the  coffee 
this  morning." 

In  an  instant  the  wrinkled,  brown  face 
was  bending  over  him.  His  pillows  were 
deftly  slipped  out,  beaten  and  replaced, 
the  bedclothes  were  smoothed  and  straightened 
and  at  one  window,  through  which  the  sun 
was  streaming,  the  shade  was  lowered. 

"Dar,  now,  honey,"  crooned  Aunt  Phil, 
giving  a  final  pat  to  the  pillows  before  leaving 
the  room.  *  Don'  yo'  be  a-worritin'  yo' 
haid  oveh  de  ca'in's  on  down  dis-a-way. 
Dey-all  boun'  fetch  up  all  right  in  de  end — 
I'll  see  to  dat.  Yo'  jes  shut  yore  eyes  an' 
go  to  sleep  'gain,  an'  yo'  old  Aunt  Phil  '11 
go  down  and  fix  up  a  mixtery  dat'll  sea*  ol' 
Mistah  Haidache  clean  out  de  windows  when 
yo'  wakes  up  'gain." 

The  door  closed  on  the  heavy  figure  with 
its  burden  of  discarded  clothing  and  food, 
and  Bruce  buried  his  face  and  lay  quite 
still  for  a  few  moments,  hoping  that  sleep 
would  revisit  him.  As  he  had  said,  his  head 
was  hot  and  his  eyeballs  ached — but  mind 
and  memory  were  again  on  the  alert  and 
insisted  on  holding  the  record  of  recent 

57 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

events  before  him.  Again  a  swarm  of  those 
tormenting  doubts  and  misgivings  lighted 
upon  him,  and  as  he  could  not  escape  them 
by  means  of  slumber,  he  rose,  dressed  himself 
and  started  down  the  stairs. 

In  the  dog-trot  sat  Letitia,  some  sewing 
in  her  hands,  and  facing  her  sat  a  plump, 
dark-eyed  young  woman,  who  would  have 
been  regally  handsome  if  she  had  practiced 
even  the  most  rudimentary  methods  of  caring 
for  her  hair,  her  skin  and  her  teeth.  In 
this  figure,  Bruce  recognized  Aunt  Philomee's 
"slummicky  goddess,"  and  had  to  smile 
to  himself  at  the  apt  description.  The  young 
woman  sprawled  lazily  across  one  of  the 
porch  chairs,  holding  in  her  wide  lap  a  kick- 
ing, gurgling  infant. 

As  Bruce  stepped  into  sight,  Letitia  rose 
and  said  to  her  companion:  "This  is  Mr. 
Patterson,  Mrs.  Tyree.  He  may  have  some- 
thing more  to  tell  you,"  and  then  withdrew. 

The  mountain  woman  looked  up  at  Bruce 
with  a  friendly  smile,  her  equanimity  unruf- 
fled by  the  presence  of  one  of  those  who 
had  condemned  her  husband,  but  she  said 
nothing. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  was  forced  to  ask, 
"and  how  is  baby?"  and  he  put  a  finger 

58 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

under  the  chin  of  the  wriggling  infant,  a 
liberty  that  it  immediately  resented  by  splut- 
tering and  crying.  The  mother  complacently 
shook  out  its  garments,  turned  it  over  and 
patted  its  back. 

"Hit's  the  mos'  contrairy  chile  that  ever 
was  borned,"  she  said  with  a  touch  of  pride. 
Then  she  raised  the  small  face  near  her  own 
and  stared  into  the  tear-dimmed  eyes,  and 
repeated  slowly:  :<Yo'  air!  Yo'  're  the 
mos'  contrairy  chile  that  ever  come  anigh 
the  mountains." 

Bruce  stood  hesitant  before  this  mother 
and  child,  uncertain  what  to  say  or  do. 
Did  this  wife  understand  the  verdict  that 
had  been  rendered  against  her  husband — 
and  its  consequence  ?  Did  she  wish  to  return 
with  the  children  to  her  home  far  back  from 
the  river  settlements?  What  could  one  say 
to  a  woman  circumstanced  as  this  one  was, 
who  laughed  and  played  with  her  baby, 
apparently  carefree? 

'You  have  another  child,  I  believe,  Mrs. 
Tyree,"  he  ventured  at  last — "  a  boy.  Where 
is  he?" 

"Ho,  Noc  ain't  nary  chile  of  mine,"  she 
answered  in  her  low  drawl.  "  He's  his  pappy 's 
boy;  his  Maw  died  powerful  nigh  three 

59 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

years  ago." 

"  Noc,  did  you  call  him  ?" 

"Enoch  is  his  given  name,"  she  replied, 
"but  I  'low  that  was  a  mite  too  long  for 
ever-day,  so  call  him  Noc.  He'll  be  round 
directly.  Heh,  you  Noc!  Yo'  come  here." 
At  her  call,  a  little,  tow-headed  urchin  of 
about  seven  years  peered  around  one  of 
the  pillars  of  the  porch  and  then  drew  back. 

"Yo'  come  on  out  here  an'  take  Ula  Bell," 
commanded  the  stepmother,  turning  with 
a  mischievous  smile  to  Bruce. 

At  this  second  summons,  the  tow-head  ap- 
peared once  more,  followed  cautiously  by  a 
short  figure  clad  in  a  faded  shirt  from  which  all 
the  buttons  had  been  torn,  and  trousers 
that  had  been  made  over  from  the  nether 
garments  of  a  full-sized  man  by  the  simple 
method  of  cutting  off  most  of  the  legs.  Bare, 
brown  feet  pattered  across  the  floor  and 
thin  arms  were  extended  for  the  heavy  baby. 

Bruce  interfered.  "Come  and  talk  with 
me  a  minute,  Noc,"  he  said  pleasantly, 
and  as  the  young  wistful  face  drew  nearer 
and  the  frigntened  eyes  shyly  met  his  own, 
he  said:  "I  wonder  if  there's  a  boy  around 
here  anywhere  who  would  be  willing  to  go 
down  to  the  mine  with  me?  Do  you  think 

60 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

I  could  find  any  such  boy  ?" 

Ten  small,  sunburned  toes  wiggled  de- 
lightedly, and  the  boy's  glance  toward  his 
stepmother  was  full  of  pleading. 

I  reckon  yo'  kin  go  if  yo'  want  to,  Noc," 
she  said  good-naturedly.  "Ula  Bell  will  be 
a-sleepin'.  Hit  had  ought  to  sleep  right 
smart  to-day — hit  didn't  sleep  nary  mite 
las'  night.  Hit's  the  mos'  contrairy  chile 
in  the  mountains,"  kissing  one  of  the  fat 
feet  that  were  kicking  about  in  her  lap, 
"that's  what  hit  sure  is.  Yo'  go  fin*  yore 
hat,  Noc." 

Just  then  Aunt  Philomee  came  to  the  dining- 
room  door  and  with  the  immense  dignity 
of  which  she  was  capable  announced :  "  Yore 
breakfas'  is  ready  fo'  yo',  Mistah  Patt'son, 
an'  yo'  betteh  come  in  and  eat  hit  an'  let 
otheh  folkses  wait  on  yo',"  and  then  disap- 
peared without  so  much  as  a  look  towards 
the  other  occupants  of  the  dog-trot. 

Mrs.  Tyree,  whose  name  was  Zulemmy, 
looked  at  Bruce  and  laughed  merrily. 

"Aunt  Phil  hates  me  pison  bad,"  she  said. 
"I  don'  know  howcome  I've  done  her  ary 
spite.  She  kin  stay  in  her  home  if  she  wants 
to — there's  a  powerful  sight  of  room  over 
thar  that  I  can't  use." 

61 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"I  will  see  today  what  can  be  done  about 
another  place  for  you  to  stay  in,"  said  Bruce 
hurriedly,  resenting  the  touch  of  coquetry 
in  the  woman's  manner.  "Or,  perhaps,  you 
would  prefer  to  return  to  your  home  at  once." 

"No,  I  ain't  in  no  such  hurry  to  go," 
she  drawled.  "Mis'  Patterson  'lowed  we'd 
sew  up  some  clothes  for  Ula  Bell  an'  me 
while  I'm  over  here.  If  Jud  ain't  never 
a-goin'  to  git  out,  I  don'  know  as  I'm  keen 
to  go  away  back  yander." 

"  Well,  we  must  think  what  is  best  to  be 
done,"  answered  Bruce  with  haste  as  Aunt 
Philomee  again  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
"  Tell  Noc  to  wait  here  for  me — I  will  not  be 
long,"  and  he  turned  into  the  dining-room. 

When  he  came  out  again,  Letitia  had 
returned  to  her  seat  on  the  porch  and  was 
slipping  something  white  over  the  head  of 
the  limp  infant,  which  the  mother  tried  to 
hold  upright,  but  she  neither  looked  at  nor 
spoke  to  her  husband,  and  he  found  his  mind 
bereft  of  any  words  for  her.  As  he  stood, 
tongue-tied,  a  colored  boy  drove  a  heavily 
built  open  buggy,  with  great  brakes  attached 
to  its  front  wheels,  up  to  the  steps,  and  little 
Noc  came  running  across  the  yard  with  a 
tattered  straw  hat  on  his  head.  Meeting 

62 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Bruce  at  the  steps  he  slipped  his  grimy 
fingers  into  the  large  palm  extended  to  him, 
and  raised  confident,  expectant  eyes. 

"Air  we  a-goin'  to  fin'  my  Pap?"  he  asked. 
"I'm  plumb  keen  to  see  him.  Say,  air 
we  a-goin'  to  fin'  him  now?  That  lady," 
motioning  to  Letitia,  "  said  yes-day  she  'lowed 
I'd  sure  see  my  Pap  today  if  I  was  a  good 
boy,  an'  I  was  good." 

'No,  Noc,"  said  Bruce  gently,  resisting 
the  impulse  to  drop  the  small  fingers  that 
were  clinging  to  his.  "You  are  going  to 
drive  me  down  to  the  mines — I  must  go 
down  there  this  morning." 

"An' — an' — kin  I  hoi'  the  lines  myse'f — 
all  by  myse'f?"  asked  the  child  eagerly 
as  he  sprang  into  the  vehicle. 

Bruce  nodded.  "Part  of  the  time,  any- 
way," he  said. 

"Oh,"  called  the  excited  youngster  to 
the  two  women  on  the  porch,  every  other 
thought  banished,  "I'm  a-goin'  to  hoi'  the 
lines  myse'f,  I'm  a-goin'  to  drive  'ithout 
nary  help.  He,9'  pointing  to  Bruce  who 
had  climbed  to  the  seat  beside  the  boy, 
"  he  is  a-goin'  to  leave  me  drive  all  alone." 

Letitia  did  not  look  up  from  her  work, 
but  Bruce  saw  her  lip  curl.  He  placed 

63 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  boy  where  he  could  be  most  easily  held 
on  to  the  seat  in  the  precipitous  descents 
of  the  mountain  road.  Just  as  all  was 
ready  for  a  start,  Letitia  rose  and  came 
to  the  edge  of  the  porch.  Her  manner 
expressed  displeasure  and  her  tone  was  icy. 

'If  it  will  not  be  troubling  you  too  mucn, 
Bruce,  I  would  like  to  learn  if  that  cottage 
at  the  corner  of  the  Treadway  place  is  occupied 
at  present.  Can  you  stop  and  see  John 
Treadway  when  in  the  village,  and  tell  him 
that  if  no  one  is  living  there,  I  would  like 
to  rent  it  for  a  few  weeks  at  least." 

"I  will  ask  him,"  answered  Bruce,  and  as 
his  wife  was  about  to  turn  back,  he  said 
in  a  lowered  voice:  "Does  Mrs.  Tyree 
mean  to  visit  her  husband  today?  They 
may  take  him  to  Frankfort  any  time  now. 
They  never  leave  a  condemned  man  in  this 
jail  long." 

"Perhaps  he  will  not  be  taken  away  as 
soon  as  you  suppose,"  was  Letitia's  reply, 
and  her  eyes  were  dark  with  the  inscrutable 
expression  that  her  husband  had  learned 
to  interpret  as  a  sign  that  further  questions 
would  be  useless. 


64 


CHAPTER  V 

WHILE  driving  down  the  steep,  rough 
road,  Bruce's  attention  was  engrossed  by 
the  antics  of  the  young  horse,  that,  it  was 
evident,  had  lacked  exercise  during  its  owner's 
absence  from  home.  One  eye  had  also  to 
be  kept  on  Noc,  whose  short  legs  hung  far 
above  the  floor  of  the  vehicle,  and  who 
threatened  at  each  sharp  turn  of  the  road 
to  pitch  over  the  dashboard.  He  persisted 
in  leaning  forward  as  far  as  his  back  would 
permit,  in  order  to  keep  his  hands  further 
along  on  the  reins  than  the  muscular  ringers 
that  were  guiding  the  movements  of  the 
skittish  animal. 

At  the  Patterson  mines  the  superintendent 
had  allowed  many  matters  of  importance 
to  accumulate  for  discussion  with  the  owner, 
and  it  was  not  until  the  buggy  had  reached 
the  comparative  level  of  the  road  as  it  neared 
the  village  that  Bruce  had  any  opportunity 
to  ponder  over  his  wife's  request.  He  could 
see  that  it  was  Letitia's  purpose  to  keep 
Mrs.  Tyree  and  her  children  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and,  to  his  mind,  such  a  course  seemed 
needless. 

65 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

He  felt  as  if  it  must  not  be,  as  if  he  could 
not  endure  the  continued  presence  of  this 
small  family  whom  his  decision  had  rendered 
fatherless.  The  unnaturalness  of  the  situa- 
tion troubled  him,  as  Noc's  tongue,  loosed 
from  the  paralysis  of  "getting  acquainted," 
wagged  merrily  and  unceasingly.  He  won- 
dered whether  there  was  any  case  on 
record  that  paralleled  his  present  position. 
What  if  in  after  years,  this  lad,  now  chatter- 
ing so  happily  by  his  side,  should  call  him 
to  account  for  his  responsibility  in  Judson 
Tyree's  conviction?  Doubts  again  began  to 
crowd  each  other  in  his  mind.  What  if  he 
had  misweighed  the  incomplete  chain  of 
circumstance  that  was  all  the  proof  of  this 
prisoner's  guilt?  What  if  his  judgment  had 
been  biased  by  his  intense  desire  that  crime 
should  no  longer  be  committed  with  impunity 
and  go  unpunished  in  these  mountains  ?  What 
if  Letitia,  in  one  of  her  frenzies  of  devotion 
to  those  whom  she  deemed  wronged  or 
oppressed,  had  gleaned  from  Tyree  s  wife 
facts  unknown  to  any  one  besides  ? 

Bruce  tried  to  shake  off  these  fears  as  he 
drove  over  the  bridge,  the  same  that  he 
had  crossed  so  buoyantly  on  foot  the  previous 
night,  and  then  on  to  the  small  shop  in  which 

66 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

John  Treadway  kept  his  stock  of  miscel- 
laneous merchandise.  John,  a  man  of  over 
fifty  years  of  age,  tall  and  brawny,  with  the 
slouching,  loose-jointed  body  of  the  laboring 
man  of  tropical  climes,  came  out  of  the  door 
as  the  buggy  drove  up,  leaving  a  gap  in  the 
circle  of  tobacco-chewing  men,  who,  with 
chairs  tilted  back  against  the  high  counters, 
were  gossiping  together  while  they  waited 
for  the  distribution  of  the  daily  mail  in  the 
tiny  post-office  further  down  the  road.  After 
Bruce  had  asked  his  question,  the  store- 
keeper stood  with  one  hand  resting  on  the 
dashboard,  while  chewing  an  enormous  quid 
and  ruminating  heavily.  It  was  as  though 
a  matter  requiring  the  most  careful  thought 
had  been  propounded  to  him.  At  last  he 
looked  up  and  said : 

"  We-el,  I  'low  yo'  mought  have  hit,  Bruce. 
Thar  ain't  nobody  in  hit  that's  got  ary  right 
to  be  thar.  I  aim  to  let  Bill  live  in  hit  when 
he  gits  married,  but  seems  like  the  gals 
round  here  'bouts  ain't  good  enough  for 
him  no  more.  Since  he  come  back  from 
a-soldierin'  in  the  Phillipynes  seems  like 
he  can't  stiddy  down  no-way.  'Low  yo' 
better  talk  to  Gran'pap  bouten  that  little 
house.  Yes,  hit's  mine  according  to  law," 

67 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

in  answer  to  an  unspoken  question,  "but 
he  stays  out  thar  to  home  all  the  time  now, 
an'  he  likes  to  have  folks  treat  him  like  he 
was  still  boss.  An',  then,  he  moughtn't 
want  no  more  young  ones  round — thar's 
right  smart  of  'em  a-belongin'  to  the  Treadway 
kin,  yo'  know.  Did  yo  say  Mis'  Tyree'd 
got  two?  I  use't  know  Zulemmy  that  spell 
she  lived  over  to  Dave  Carroll's.  Don't 
seem  as  if  that  was  more'n  a  year  or  so  back. 
That  one  of  her  children?"  pointing  to  Noc 
in  bewilderment. 

Bruce  explained  the  relationship  existing 
between  the  boy  and  Tyree's  wife.  Treadway 
nodded  as  he  continued : — 

"So  'ts  Jud  Tyree's  first  wife's  child,  eh? 
Yes,  that's  right.  She  was  Jerindy  Touchout, 
one  of  the  Touchout's  from  Miller  Creek 
way,  an'  she  died  quite  a  spell  back.  We-el, 
yo'  see  Gran'pap,  an'  if  he  ain't  got  no  objec- 
tion to  lettin'  that  little  house,  I  won't  make 
none.  The  well  over  thar  ain't  been  cleaned 
out  for  a  powerful  long  spell,  but  I  'low 
Zulemmy  km  tote  water  from  our  spring." 

The  man  shuffled  slowly  back  to  his  shop 
as  Bruce  drove  on  to  a  more  shaded  spot 
to  wait  for  the  mail.  While  he  waited,  an 
elderly  woman,  neatly  dressed  and  with 

68 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

an  erect  carriage,  came  down  the  footpath 
and  when  she  reached  the  buggy  turned 
and  held  out  her  hand. 

"Bruce  Patterson!"  she  exclaimed  cordially. 
"  It  does  one  good  to  see  you  about  once  more. 
Where  have  you  been  lately?  And  who  is 
the  little  man  you  have  up  there  with  you  ?" 

"This  is  Enoch  Tyree,  Mrs.  Pritchett," 
answered  Bruce,  ignoring  her  query  in  regard 
to  himself.  "Noc  and  his  mother  have 
been  staying  with  Aunt  Philomee  for  a  few 
days,  but  they  expect  to  move  out  to  the 
corner  cabin  on  the  Treadway  farm  very 
soon,"  he  added  quickly,  fearing  from  the 
lady's  exclamation  and  her  close  scrutiny 
of  the  child  that  she  might  make  some  remark 
that  would  wound  the  boy's  sensibilities, 
or  lead  to  a  renewal  of  the  request  that  he 
might  "  see  my  Pap." 

"Into  Bill's  house?"  asked  the  lady. 
'  They  say  it  is  to  be  Bill's  when  he  marries." 

"I  wish  he  would  marry  some  good,  indus- 
trious girl,"  replied  Mrs.  Pritchett,  who,  for 
some  reason,  wished  to  ignore  the  one  topic 
with  which  the  air  of  the  village  was  rife — 
the  verdict  in  the  Tyree  trial.  "  David  esteems 
Bill  very  highly — has  made  him  foreman, 
or  something  else,  at  the  mill,  and  contends 

69 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

that  he  has  got  lots  of  good  stuff  in  him. 
But  he  has  one  bad  habit  that  marrying 
might  not  cure — it  isn't  apt  to.  You  had 
your  experience  with  that  before  he  was 
discharged  from  your  mines.  And  when 
he  is  drinking  he  is  reasonless — absolutely 
devoid  of  reasoning  power.  And  you  say 
this  is  Tyree's  son?"  trying  to  speak  indif- 
ferently and  with  a  slight  gesture  towards 
the  jail  that  was  within  sight.  "Then  he 
must  be  Zulemmy's  stepson.  Zulemmv 
worked  for  us  once  for  a  while,  maybe  it 
was  while  you  were  away.  Zulemmy  wasn't 
too  overly  fond  of  work  in  those  days,"  with 
a  dry  chuckle.  Then  in  a  changed  tone  she 
leaned  forward  and  said: 

"I  must  tell  you  that  your  verdict  took 
my  breath  away.' 

"Don't  you  think  it  just?"  demanded 
Bruce. 

She  made  no  reply,  and  he  changed  the 
subject  by  asking:  "How  is  David ?" 

"  David  ?  How  is  David?  Busy.  Morn- 
ing, noon  and  night  and  next  day,  too — busy. 
I  ask  him  at  times  if  he  thinks  he's  leaving 
enough  work  to  go  round  among  the  other 
folks.  And  he's  so  full  of  his  ambitions. 
Plans  to  have  the  best  equipped  saw-mill 

70 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

and  the  finest  set  of  operatives  in  the  land. 
Keeps  me  hemming  curtains  for  his  club- 
house windows  and  covering  books  for  his 
club-house  shelves,  and  what-not.  Oh,  it's 
very  well  to  have  some  ambition,  but  a  man 
can  have  too  much  of  any  good  thing." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  agree  with  you  there," 
said  Bruce.  "Ambition  is  a  splendid  quality 
for  any  young  man  to  possess.  You  remem- 
ber Emerson  s  advice  about  hitching  your 
wagon  to  a  star  ?" 

'  Yes,  that's  Emerson,"  retorted  the  lady 
with  some  asperity.  "I  guess  Ralph  W. 
didn't  take  time  to  calculate  what  uncom- 
fortable travelling  that  would  make  for  any 
one  obliged  to  sit  alongside  of  the  driver.  ' 
Bruce  laughed  and  a  moment  later  Mrs. 
Pritchett  exclaimed:  "There!  They  are 
starting  out  of  the  office  at  last,  so  I  suppose 
Miss  Julia  has  got  the  mail  distributed. 
What  does  take  so  many  men  there  every 
day?  No  letters  were  ever  known  to  come 
for  them,  and  many  of  them  couldn't  read 
a  letter  if  it  did  come." 

"One  way  of  passing  the  time,"  answered 
Bruce,  looking  at  the  groups  that  were  saunter- 
ing listlessly  along  the  path.  "You  cannot 
complain  that  they  are  too  ambitious." 

71 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"Contentment  is — easier  to  dwell  with — 
than  ambition,"  mis-quoted  Mrs.  Pritchett 
wilfully,  and  she  turned  to  go  on. 

"Come  out  and  see  us,  you  and  David," 
urged  Bruce,  as  she  moved  away.  "You 
have  not  been  out  for  a  long  while,  and  we 
are  always  mighty  glad  to  see  you." 

"Are  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Pritchett  under 
her  breath  as  she  walked  on.  "Your  lady- 
wife  can't  endure  the  sight  of  me,  and  I 
will  say  once  for  all  that  I  ain't  too  shocking 
fond  of  her.  And  there's  Mary  Joyce  and 
David  had  some  kind  of  a  falling-out,  just 
after  they  seemed  to  be  falling-m  so  un- 
mistakably last  fall  before  she  went  off  to 
Frankfort.  You're  all  right,  Bruce  P.,  if 
only  you  wasn't  so  willing  to  let  Letishy  wear 
the  breeches.  But  take  things  by  and  large, 
if  you  want  to  see  me  so  terrible  bad,  I  guess 
you'll  have  to  come  where  I  am." 

Among  the  last  to  leave  the  post-office 
door  was  a  smooth-faced  stripling,  who  hurried 
to  the  side  of  the  buggy  and  handed  Bruce 
a  package  of  letters  and  papers. 

"Kind-a  'lowed  yo'  wouldn't  be  keen 
to  leave  yore  horse  an'  that  kid  to  play  tag 
with  each  other,"  he  said  with  a  grin;  "so 
I  taken  yore  mail  from  Miss  Jule  an'  tole 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

her  I'd  give  it  to  yo'safe." 

"That  was  very  kind  of  you,  Price," 
answered  Mr.  Patterson,  as  he  took  the 
bundle  and  stored  it  away.  "My  horse  is 
more  nervous  than  usual  this  morning — 
has  not  been  exercised  enough  lately."  Then, 
as  the  awkward  young  fellow  kept  his  place 
beside  the  wheel  of  the  buggy,  Bruce  asked 
carelessly:  "How  is  everything?  Any 
news  ?" 

"Thar  ain't  nary  news  round  this-a-way 
'ceptin'  what  yo'  had  a  hand  in  over  yon," 
with  a  gesture  towards  the  courthouse. 
"Reckon  yo'  honestly  'lowed  't  Jud  shot 
that  officer,  I  reckon  yo'  did," — with  no 
suspicion  that  his  words  might  be  offensive, — 
"  but  hit  seems  like  matters  wasn't  goin'  to  be 
holped  nary  might  by  turning  round  an' 
killm'  him.  The  boys  in  the  post-office  was 
a-sayin'  that  thar  was  talk  of  a  re-trial,  or 
somethin.'  Yo'  know  they  telegraphed  bouten 
hit  to  Frankfort  this  mornin*  ?" 

"No,"  said  Bruce  with  some  surprise, 
"I  had  not  heard  of  it,"  and  nodding  to  the 
youth,  whose  evident  purpose  it  was  to  repeat 
every  detail  of  the  sending  of  the  message 
to  the  Capitol,  he  started  the  restless  horse 
towards  home.  All  the  way  out  little  Noc's 

73 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

tongue  ran  glibly,  but  his  companion  was 
unconscious  of  the  childish  prattle.  His 
thoughts  were  wandering  afar.  A  foreboding 
of  coming  ill  clutched  his  heart;  he  was 
amazed  and  angry  to  find  that  so  far  as  he 
had  gathered  it,  the  consensus  of  public 
opinion  was  against  the  verdict  rendered. 

When  Letitia  Patterson  went  in  to  supper 
that  night,  she  heard  her  husband  and  his 
cousin-ward,  Joyce,  talking  and  laughing 
together.  Bruce  had  repeated  his  short  chat 
with  Mrs.  Pritchett,  and  Joyce,  with  girlish 
skill,  was  parrying  his  pointed  queries  in 
regard  to  David  Carroll.  The  mistress  of 
the  house  took  her  seat  in  silence  and  remained 
with  tensely  drawn  lips  and  angry  eyes 
until  the  echoes  of  their  mirth  had  died  away. 
After  several  abortive  attempts  to  include 
his  wife  in  the  desultory  conversation  that 
followed,  Bruce  addressed  himself  to  Aunt 
Philomee,  who  waddled  back  and  forth  with 
relays  of  hot  waffles,  a  duty  she  always 
took  it  upon  herself  to  perform — whether 
because  it  was  a  more  agreeable  task  to  fetch 
and  carry  than  to  stand  over  the  hot  stove 
and  bake  the  delicious  batter  she  had  mixed, 
or  because  of  her  joy  in  witnessing  the  apprecia- 
tion her  cookery  was  sure  to  receive,  would 

74 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

be  difficult  to  decide. 

"I  think  you  may  plan  to  let  Toppy  and 
Jum  have  the  use  or  their  own  bed  after 
a  night  or  two,  Aunt  Phil,"  he  said.  "I 
will  ride  out  to  the  Treadway's  tomorrow 
and  see  whether  Bill's  cabin  is  in  livable 
shape  or  not,  and  you  can  tote  your  traps 
and  calamities  back  where  they  belong  as 
soon  as  you  choose." 

The  white-haired  negress  stood  with  her 
hands  spread  over  her  wide  hips,  her  body 
almost  tilling  the  door-frame.  "I  reckon  I 
ain'  gwine  tote  back  no  such  c'lamity  as  done 
been  dar  since  I  lef,"  she  chuckled. 

"Will  you  go  with  me  and  look  the  place 
over,  Letitia,  '  suggested  Bruce  later  on, 
when  he  saw  his  wife  sealing  one  of  her 
interminable  letters.  "It  is  a  mere  matter 
of  courtesy  for  me  to  go  and  talk  to  old 
Mr.  Tread  way,  but  John  made  a  point  of 
it,  and  you  could  look  into  the  building 
and  decide  what  is  needed  there." 

"  No,"  answered  she  indifferently.  "  It  prob- 
ably will  do  well  enough." 

Bruce  was  puzzled.  He  had  not  yet 
learned  to  anticipate  these  rapid  changes 
in  his  wife's  moods.  He  did  not  discern 
that  the  reason  for  her  decreased  enthusiasm 

75 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

over  the  housing  of  her  proteges  was  that 
her  will  in  the  matter  was  undisputed. 

"I  thought  it  was  your  wish  that  Mrs. 
Tyree  should  move  up  there  for  the  time 
being,"  he  said  with  some  hesitation. 

"  My  wish,"  she  echoed  scornfully.  "  What 
weight  have  my  wishes  against  Aunt  Philo- 
mee's  whims  ?"  She  rose  and  walked  away 
a  few  steps  and  then  returned. 

"You  may  not  know  that  Tyree's  attorney 
is  working  for  a  new  trial.  I  sent  him  word 
this  morning  that  I  had  learned  certain  facts 
in  my  talks  with  Zulemmy  that  led  me  to 
believe  a  new  trial  would  be  justified.  All 
the  testimony  against  the  prisoner  was  purely 
circumstantial,  and  it  was  no  difficult  matter 
for  an  expert  in  phrases  to  twist  and  pervert 
the  admissions  of  the  witnesses  and  dress 
them  up  to  look  like  conclusive  proof  to  the 
ignorant,  slow-witted  mountaineers  who  were 
his  co-iurors." 

At  this  palpable  insult,  Bruce  grew  white. 

"What  object  could  possibly  be  attained 
by  a  false  conviction  of  this  prisoner?"  he 
demanded,  facing  her  squarely  and  with  a 
look  in  his  eyes  before  which  her  own  fell. 

"  How  can  I  tell  what  weight  such  an  action 
would  have  with  the  powers  that  be?"  she 

76 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

retorted.  "I  have  had  no  training  as  a 
reformer,  nor  am  I  seeking  political  advance- 
ment. You  surely  know  what  end  you  had 


in  view." 


77 


CHAPTER  VI 

PERHAPS  the  best  known,  and  least  under- 
stood woman  living  in  that  section  of  the 
Corncracker  state  was  Mrs.  E-Nora  Pritchett, 
as  she  invariably  signed  her  name.  To  a 
discerning  mind  this  odd  signature  was  an 
index  of  marked  individuality,  of  the  broadest 
independence  of  action  and  a  tremendous 
fondness  for  aiming  a  painless  shot  now 
and  again  at  the  fads  of  her  contemporaries. 

In  these  days  the  use  of  the  hyphen  in 
the  surname  is  not  uncommon  among  one 
class  of  Americans,  and  where  its  object  is 
to  safeguard  the  identity  of  one  of  the  Jones, 
Smith  or  Miller  family,  the  practice  is  pardon- 
able. "Parting  the  name  in  the  middle" 
is  no  longer  deemed  an  unmistakable  symptom 
of  effeminacy,  vet,  among  those  of  the  older, 
more  conservative  generation,  the  patronymic, 
preceded  in  order  by  such  names  as  given 
a  child  by  the  "sponsors  in  baptism"  of 
the  orthodox,  cannot  be  improved  by  any 
wilful  mutilation.  Mrs.  Pritchett  kept  fully 
abreast  of  the  tendencies  of  the  times,  and 
as  she  had  never  given  any  explanation  of 

78 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

her  adoption  of  the  queerly  placed  hyphen 
at  the  time  of  her  widowhood,  it  may  be 
assumed  that  this  was  one  of  the  harmless 
whimsies  through  which  she  enlivened  her 
no  longer  eventful  existence. 

Her  youth  had  been  spent  with  her  father 
and  brothers  among  the  pine  woods  of  north- 
ern Michigan.  She  had  been  a  healthy, 
strong,  rollicking  girl,  fond  of  sport,  and  a 
prime  favorite  in  her  father's  logging  camps; 
the  lumbermen,  however,  regarding  her  more 
as  a  jolly  comrade  than  as  a  potential  sweet- 
heart. Much  later  in  life  than  was  customary 
with  the  maidens  of  that  region,  she  had 
married,  her  choice  falling  upon  a  mining 
expert  who  had  been  sent  to  investigate 
the  mineral  possibility  of  that  section,  and 
who  was  often  heard  to  affirm  that  his  home 
was  wherever  he  hung  his  hat.  The  life 
of  the  two  after  marriage  had  been  one  of 
constant  change  and  adventure,  as  the  hat 
had  hung  for  periods  of  varying  length  under 
the  skies  of  Australia,  among  Siberian  snows, 
on  the  volcanic  slopes  of  South  America 
and  the  kopjes  of  Africa.  In  the  last-named 
country,  the  wearer  of  the  nomadic  head- 
covering  had  succumbed  to  the  coast  fever, 
leaving  his  wife,  who  had  dauntlessly  followed 

79 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

her  husband  in  all  his  wanderings,  with  but 
scant  resources,  to  make  her  way  back  to 
her  native  land.  She  finally  arrived  in  the 
mountains  of  eastern  Kentucky,  where  one 
of  her  brothers  had  established  a  lumber 
business  and  where,  his  wife  having  passed 
away  a  year  previous,  he  and  his  only  child, 
a  boy  in  his  early  teens,  were  rejoiced  to  wel- 
come the  big-hearted  relative  who  at  once 
began  to  restore  order  to  their  chaotic  dwelling. 
Mrs.  E-Nora  was  a  woman  whose  affections 
centered  on  but  few  but  were  inexhaustible 
for  those  few,  and  her  delight  at  being  once 
more  domiciled  with  those  of  her  own  blood 
was  so  intense  as  to  verge  on  pathos.  Of 
her  personal  history  during  her  long  years 
of  wandering  she  seldom  spoke,  but  those 
same  years  and  wanderings  had  furnished 
her  with  a  never  failing  fund  of  stories  and 
anecdotes  on  which  she  was  wont  to  draw 
in  lieu  of  the  small-talk  and  gossip  of  the 
social  world.  There  were  occasions  when 
her  stories,  related  with  the  naivete  and 
guilelessness  of  a  child,  would  sound  ab- 
solutely inappropriate  to  the  topic  under  dis- 
cussion, but  not  infrequently  some  ridiculous 
tale  would  recur  later  on  to  the  minds  of 
auditors  who  had  impatiently  listened  to 

80 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

its  recital,  charged  with  a  pertinence  that 
was  disconcerting. 

To  renew  old  habits  in  a  country  where, 
she  affirmed,  "folks  lived,"  after  her  years 
of  sojourn  among  savages  and  semi-bar- 
barians, was  to  her  a  reason  for  fervent 
thanksgiving.  She  loved  to  take  her  sewing 
and  sit  on  the  river  bank  and  watch  the  logs 
roll  down  the  steep  clearing  on  the  opposite 
mountain;  to  tramp  out  and  inspect  the 
construction  of  a  "splash,"  as  the  mountain 
woodmen  term  a  contrivance  for  floating 
the  cut  timber  down  the  creeks  and  shallower 
streams.  She  was  a  good  walker  and  pre- 
ferred her  own  feet  to  any  other  form  of 
locomotion,  especially  among  these  perpen- 
dicular cliffs  and  ravines,  where  a  horse's 
back  becomes  an  animated  "teeter,"  as  upset- 
ting to  one's  nerves  and  internal  economy 
as  the  gait  of  a  camel, — and  a  drive  over 
the  narrow,  washed-out  roads,  where  experience 
in  the  use  of  the  brake  is  as  essential  as 
strength  and  dexterity  with  the  reins,  was, 
she  declared,  torture  to  which  she  only  felt 
bound  to  submit  in  cases  of  the  most  urgent 
necessity. 

For  many  months  after  she  joined  her 
brother,  she  found  some  excuse  lor  visiting 

81 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  saw-mill  every  day,  and  would  stand 
for  moments  listening  to  the  screech  of  the 
gang-saws  as  they  tore  through  the  hewn 

fiants  of  the  forest.  "I  never  knew  that 
'd  been  so  homesick  for  the  smell  of  wet 
sawdust,"  she  exclaimed  to  her  brother  once 
as  they  passed  through  the  lumber-yard  to- 
gether, and  with  the  words,  she  caught  up 
a  handful  of  the  pungent  refuse  and  held 
it  to  her  nose. 

Her  tremendous  activity  for  a  long  time 
found  its  most  fruitful  outlet  in  efforts  to 
rid  the  Carroll  home  from  the  numerous 
forms  of  insect  life  with  which  most  of  the 
buildings  of  that  locality  are  infested.  Screens 
were  fitted  to  all  doors  and  windows,  and 
in  addition  to  these  barriers,  long  fringes 
of  paper  were  tacked  to  the  cross  panels 
of  each  outer  door — fringes  that,  set  all 
a-flutter  by  every  entrance  or  exit,  discouraged 
the  vain  hopes  of  such  flies  as  were  lurking 
near,  watching  for  a  chance  to  slip  in. 
The  fleas  that  had  been  multiplying  in  the 
sand  of  the  cellar  since  the  erection  of  the 
dwelling  were  now  routed  by  applications 
of  fresh  lime;  the  legions  of  chiggers  and 
wood-ticks  in  the  coarse,  tangled  grass  of 
the  door-yard  were  banished  by  semi-weekly 

82 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

mowing  and  floods  of  soapsuds,  with  an 
occasional  mixture  of  paris  green. 

With  this  wholesale  insecticide  Carroll  pere 
did  not  interfere,  and  Carroll  fils  was  a  lively 
aide.  The  former  gave  his  sister  a  freehand 
and  unquestioned  authority  in  all  matters 
domestic  save  one — he  insisted  firmly  that 
a  person  be  hired  to  perform  the  more  menial 
drudgery  of  housekeeping — and  when  Mrs. 
E-Nora  was  convinced  that  her  brother  could 
neither  be  cajoled  nor  joked  into  changing 
this  decree,  she  very  wisely  submitted  to 
the  letter  of  the  law  and  evaded  its  spirit 
as  far  as  she  dared.  Many  were  the  after- 
noons and  the  whole  days  "out"  that  fell 
to  the  lot  of  whichsoever  of  the  mountain 
girls  happened  to  be  "a-livin*  to  Carroll's," 
and  on  these  holidays  for  the  maid,  the  mistress 
would  repair  to  the  kitchen  and  scrub  and 
scour  until  within  an  hour  of  the  home-coming 
from  the  mill.  Then  she  would  cook  a  meal 
of  such  perfection  that  it  was  not  in  the 
heart  of  the  man  to  whom  it  was  served  to 
make  any  critical  comment  on  the  repeated 
absences  of  the  housemaid. 

On  first  acquaintance,  the  Cumberland 
mountaineers  were  devoid  of  much  attraction 
for  this  cosmopolitan.  It  took  time  for  Mrs. 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

Pritchett  to  overcome  her  instinctive  antago- 
nism to  such  lack  of  all  ambition,  such  frank 
superstition,  such  neglect  of  the  personal 
habits  of  civilized  human  beings  as  prevail 
among  the  poorer,  the  more  degraded  inhabit- 
ants of  these  unfrequented  heights.  Longer 
stay  and  a  truer  knowledge  led  her  to  estimate 
their  characteristics  by  different  standards, 
to  weigh  their  virtues  and  their  faults  on 
scales  of  finer  adjustment.  She  found  her- 
self at  length  unconsciously  framing  arguments 
in  favor  of  a  mode  of  living  that  hails  with 
thankfulness  the  good  brought  by  each  day, 
untroubled  by  worriment  for  the  morrow; 
that  keeps  the  inside  of  the  bowl  and  the 
platter — the  heart  and  mind  of  the  man- 
pure  and  clean,  to  whatever  extent  external 
niceties  may  be  neglected. 

"I  guess  that  word  next  in  the  old  saying 
means  next  after,  and  not  next  before  godliness, 
as  some  folks  make  out,"  she  admitted  to  her 
brother  one  day — and  who  shall  dare  claim 
to  have  attained  to  godlike-ness?  On  their 
part,  the  mountain  people,  for  a  time  awe- 
stricken  and  abashed  by  the  vigor  and  cease- 
less activity  of  the  newcomer,  were  steadily 
won  to  friendliness  by  her  bountiful  good- 
nature, by  her  love  for  and  comprehension 

84 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

of  their  children,  and  by  her  skill  and  un- 
selfish devotion  to  the  feeole  and  the  ailing. 

One  of  the  first  conquests  made  by  this 
new  mistress  of  the  Carroll  home  was  that 
of  a  little  girl  of  eight,  or  thereabouts,  who, 
one  afternoon  when  Mrs.  Pritchett  was  work- 
ing among  the  flowers  that  had  sprung  up 
under  her  care  of  the  garden  like  magic, 
rode  up  to  the  fence,  perched  on  a  pony, 
whose  back  also  bore  the  weight  of  a  darky 
child  somewhat  older,  and  called  out  with 
a  winning  smile : 

"Howdy!  Will  you  please  give  me  a 
flowe'?"  ' 

Before  Mrs.  Pritchett  could  reply,  the 
youthful  representative  of  the  African  race, 
who  evidently  acted  as  chaperone  to  her 
companion,  remonstrated :  "  Now,  Miss  Ma'y 
Joyce,  wha'  fo'  yo'  done  ask  dat?  We  des 
got  slathe's  o'  flowe's  to  ou'  own  house.  Yo' 
Uncle  Hi  ain'  gwine  like  fo'  yo'  to  be  beggin' 
strange's  fo'  no  flowe's — dat  he  ain'." 

"But  we  haven't  got  any  half  so  pretty 
as  hers,  and  I  want  one  of  hers,"  pouted 
little  Miss  Ma'y  Joyce.  "An'  I  did  say 
please,  Toppy;  su'  as  you  bawn  I  did." 

"You  asked  very  prettily,"  said  Mrs. 
Pritchett  from  her  side  of  the  fence,  "  and 

85 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

I  know  all  my  flowers  would  be  glad  to  go 
with  you — I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  choose. 
Perhaps  if  you  came  in  and  picked  some 
yourself  and  spoke  a  word  or  two  to  those 
you  leave  behind  they  would  not  be  so  disap- 
pointed and  jealous.' 

The  child  slipped  to  the  ground  and  hurried 
through  the  gate,  while  her  dusky  guardian 
kept  her  seat  on  the  pony's  back,  and  strove 
by  sitting  very  erect  and  holding  the  bridle 
short  and  tight,  to  prevent  that  petted  beast 
from  nibbling  the  grass  by  the  roadside. 

"  Do  you  think  the  flowe's  really  care  what 
happens  to  them?  Do  you  believe  they 
know  about  things?"  questioned  the  small 
maiden  flitting  about  among  the  rows  of 
brilliant  annuals  with  a  sniff  now  and  again 
at  a  fragrant  blossom  and  a  gentle  touch 
for  a  frail  one. 

"I  would  dearly  love  to  take  all  of  you," 
she  whispered,  "but  that  would  leave  the 
lady  too  lonesome.  Maybe  she  will  let  me 
come  and  see  you  again  some  day.  Oh, 
which  shall  I  take?"  turning  a  wistful  face 
to  Mrs.  Pritchett,  who  followed  her  small 
visitor  about. 

"I  believe,"  slowly,  "I  will  take  some 
of  these"  pointing  at  a  tangle  of  pink  sweet 

86 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

peas,  "they  smell  so  good;  and,  may  I  have 
one  of  those"  indicating  the  rosettes  on  the 
tall  stalks  of  a  yellow  dahlia,  "for  Toppy? 
If  you  can  spare  so  many.  I  did  not  know 
that  any  grown-up  folks  believed  that  flowe's 
were  like  fairies,"  as  her  hostess  broke  the 
stems  of  the  chosen  blossoms  and  laid  them 
in  the  warm  little  palm. 

"Why  they  are  fairies,  of  course  they  are," 
responded  Mrs.  Pritchett.  "See  all  me  dear 
little  faces  looking  up  from  that  pansy  bed; 
and  the  sweet  peas  are  butterflies  that  have 
lighted  on  the  vines  and  are  under  a  spell 
so  that  they  can't  fly  away." 

"O-oh!  Like  everything  in  the  Sleeping 
Beauty's  garden,"  gasped  the  child  in  delight. 

"And  how  do  you  suppose  the  four  o'clocks 
know  when  it  is  time  for  them  to  unfold, 
or  the  morning-glories  when  their  bedtime 
comes?  Eh?" 

"O-oh!"  gasped  the  child  again,  fixing  her 
bright  eyes  on  the  speaker's  face.  "  You 
don't  think  it's  all  just  play  pretend,  do  you  ? 
How  nice  you  are!"  stretching  up  a  pair 
of  short  arms — "I  want  to  give  you  a  kiss." 

After  the  lady  had  stooped  down  and  a 
warm  embrace  had  been  given,  the  child 
prattled  on:  "And  will  you  let  me — will 

87 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

you  mind  if  I  come  some  other  day  to  see 
you  and  your  flowe's?  We  haven't  got  any 
half  so  pretty,  no'  half  so  many  at  ou'  house. 
Toppy  was  just  putting  on  her  airs." 

Where  is  your  house?"  asked  Mrs. 
Pritchett,  who  had  been  slow  in  investigating 
the  locality. 

"My  house?"  and  the  hazel  eyes  opened 
wide.  "Why,  I  live  with  my  uncle  Hi — 
Uncle  Hi  and  Cousin  Bruce — when  Cousin 
Bruce  is  home  from  college.  I  s'posed  eve'y- 
body  knew  that.  I've  lived  there  eve'  since 
I  was  a  teenty-tinty  baby." 

"But,"  responded  Mrs.  Pritchett  with  a 
smile,  "I  don't  know  who  Uncle  Hi  is,  nor 
Cousin  Bruce,  either." 

"  You  don't  know  who  my  Uncle  Hi  is!" 
exclaimed  the  child  in  great  amazement. 
"I  thought  eve'body  knew  him.  Uncle  Hi's 
name  is  just  the  same  as  mine,  and  I'm  Miss 
Mary  Joyce  Patterson,"  the  last  with  much 
dignity.  "And  that's  Toppy  out  on  the 
pony.  I  don't  know  whethe'  she's  got  any 
mo'  name  than  just  Toppy.  When  Cousin 
Bruce  is  home  he  calls  her  Topknot  Come- 
down, but  that's  too  funny  for  a  name,  isn't 
it?  The  boy  who  lives  here  sometimes  said 
one  day  her  name  was  Toppy  Bottom.  Is  he 

88 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

here  now  ?" 

"Who?  David?  No,  he  is  away  at 
school." 

"Like  Cousin  Bruce."  Then  thoughtfully 
— "Does  eve'body  go  away  to  school  when 
they  get  big?  Will  I  go  and  will  Toppy  go 
too?" 

"You  will  probably  go,  and  Toppy  may," 
replied  her  hostess,  with  a  glance  and  smile 
at  the  rigid  figure  on  the  pony's  back. 

"Maybe  she's  getting  tired  of  waiting  so 
long.  Uncle  Hi  says  I  must  always  have 
con-sid-er-a-tion  for  Toppy's  feelings.  She 
will  be  glad  to  get  this  flowe',  anyhow,  and 
I  thank  you  very  much  for  your  kindness," 
the  last  with  a  quaint  primness  of  enunciation 
that  the  hearer  guessed  had  been  taught  her 
by  the  old  uncle. 

"  If  that  boy  were  here  now,"  looking  back 
at  the  house,  "he  could  lift  me  up  onto  the 
pony,  couldn't  he?  But  Toppy  can  get 
down  and  boost  me  up.  She  can  climb 
up  all  by  herse'f,"  proudly. 

"Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  lift  you  up, 
and  then  Toppy  won't  have  to  get  down," 
suggested  Mrs.  Pritchett,  following  the  tiny 
maid  as  she  went  out  of  the  gate  with  her 
handful  of  posies. 

89 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"That  would  be  very  kind  of  you,"  with 
a  return  to  the  old-fashioned  courtesy  of  tone 
and  manner.  "  Uncle  Hi  says  I  must  not  for- 
get what  a  heavy  girl  I  have  grown  to  be. 
Maybe  you  couldn't  lift  me  so  high." 

"I  think  I  could  manage  it,"  laughed 
the  lady.  "And  will  you  say  to  Uncle  Hi 
that  you  have  given  an  old  lady  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure  by  your  visit,  and  that  she  hopes 
you  will  come  again  very  soon  ?" 

"What  old  lady?"  asked  the  child  naively, 
glancing  back  into  the  garden.  "Oh!"  with 
sudden  comprehension — "you  mean  you'  own 
se'f.  But  you  ain't  an  old  lady!  I  reckon 
you're  under  the  spell,  too,  and  that  you're 
just  a  little  girl — like  me — underneath.  Do 
you  like  to  be  so  tall,  little  girl — and  to  wea' 
such  long  dresses?"  with  a  roguish  twinkle 
that  set  the  dimple  lurking  near  the  left 
corner  of  the  small  mouth  dancing  in  and  out. 

"You  are  a  witch,"  laughed  the  lady, 
kissing  the  child  as  she  lifted  her  to  the  seat 
behind  Toppy  on  the  pony's  back. 

"  See,  Toppy,  I  brought  this  flowe'  to  you," 
and  a  small  arm  reached  round  and  held  the 
gorgeous  dahlia  to  the  dark  hand  grasping 
the  bridle.  "  Ain't  she  sweet  ?  She's  a  lovely 
lady  in  her  ball-gown,  but  she's  under  a  spell. 

90 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Eve'thing  here  is  under  a  spell,  Toppy,  like 
the  things  in  the  Sleeping  Beauty's  garden." 

Miss  Toppy  relaxed  the  severity  of  her 
mien  sufficiently  to  take  the  flower,  but  she 
looked  at  it  doubtfully.  Toppy 's  imagina- 
tion was  not  her  strongest  point,  and  after 
a  moment's  inspection  she  said  critically: 
"But  I  don'  see  any  haid.  Wha'  she  haid?" 
'Why,  you  silly,  she's  got  a  sca'f  ove'  her 
head,  like  the  pretty  lady  in  the  picture  in 
Cousin  Bruce's  room." 

"I  gwine  put  he'  in  my  hai',"  announced 
Toppy  stolidly,  yet  with  brightening  features, 
and  she  suited  the  action  to  the  word  by 
sticking  the  floral  rosette  among  her  thickets 
of  black  kinks. 

"  O-oh !  She  looks  so  be-yu-ti-ful  up  there," 
said  Mary  Joyce  with  some  envy.  "I  reckon 
I'd  rather,"  looking  from  the  bunch  of  sweet 
peas  in  her  fingers  back  to  the  dahlia  bed 
.  .  .  "No,  no,  I'll  keep  you,"  she  whispered 
after  a  moment  of  doubtfulness,  laying  the 
blossoms  against  her  cheek.  *  They're  butter- 
flies, Toppy,  pink  butterflies,  but  they  can't 
fly  any  more  until  the  prince  comes." 

The  pony  started  off  of  his  own  accord 
as  if  accustomed  to  the  idiosyncrasies  of 
his  riders,  and  trotted  down  to  the  village 

91 


street  while  the  children  chattered  together. 
When  he  turned  the  corner  they  seemed 
to  rouse  to  the  fact  that  they  were  in  motion, 
and  the  two  heads  turned  to  look  back  where 
Mrs.  Pritchett  still  stood,  and  a  slender  white 
hand  and  a  stubby  brown  one  waved  her 
an  adieu. 

Thereafter  little  Mary  Joyce  Patterson  and 
her  dark  companion  were  frequent  visitors 
at  the  Carroll  home,  where  their  frank  enjoy- 
ment of  her  hospitality  afforded  as  much 
pleasure  to  their  elderly  hostess  as  her  knowl- 
edge of  and  deference  to  the  tastes  and 
preference  of  the  little  girls  gave  them.  The 
boy,  David,  Mrs.  Pritchett's  nephew,  spent 
most  of  this  period  of  his  life  at  school,  but 
sometimes  during  his  vacation  days,  he  would 
stand  aloof  and  watch  the  fantastic  games 
that  his  Aunt  Nora  devised  to  amuse  her 
young  guests,  and  was  even  known,  when 
the  sport  became  too  enticing,  to  forego  the 
dignity  of  his  sex  and  superior  years  and 
join  the  others.  Toppy,  whose  infrequent 
remarks  were  apt  to  be  frank,  "'lowed  they 
could  git  'long  jes  as  well  thouten  no  boys 
botherin',"  a  statement  for  which  little  Joyce 
tried  to  atone  by  even  more  than  her  wonted 
sweetness.  As  a  playmate  the  lad  preferred 

92 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  brown-skinned  lassie,  who  was  fearless 
in  her  endeavors  to  excel  his  own  acrobatic 
performances  on  a  turning-pole  that  he  had 
erected  hi  the  Carroll  yard.  His  opinion 
of  Mary  Joyce  at  this  time  was  that  she  was 
"pretty  'nough  but  a  little  fraidy  cat.'* 

As  years  rolled  on  and  college  succeeded 
school,  he  lost  his  interest  in  the  shy,  half- 
grown  girls  whom  he  sometimes  saw  at  his 
home  during  his  vacation  days,  though  one 
year  he  was  graciously  pleased  to  appropriate 
a  picture  belonging  to  his  Aunt  Nora  of  the 
piquant  face  and  wonderful  hair  of  the  "Pat- 
terson Kid,"  and  add  it  to  the  collection 
of  feminine  portraits  that  decorated  the  walls 
of  his  den.  When  his  father's  death  com- 
pelled him  to  leave  college  prior  to  graduation 
and  to  assume  charge  of  the  now  well  estab- 
lished and  growing  lumber  industry  that 
bore  the  Carroll  name,  for  two  years  he  was 
so  engrossed  in  acquainting  himself  with 
every  detail  of  the  enterprise  and  planning 
for  its  enlargement,  that  he  was  hardly  aware 
of  the  occasional  presence  in  his  home  of  a 
slender  young  girl  with  a  halo  of  bright 
curls,  who  slipped  in  and  out  unaccompanied 
nowr,  for  Miss  Topknot  had  transferred  her 
guardianship  to  the  person  and  fortunes 

93 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

of  a  young  colored  man  by  marrying  early 
as  is  the  custom  of  her  race. 

In  one  of  the  holiday  periods  of  Joyce's 
last  year  at  school,  the  young  lumber  dealer's 
eyes  had,  at  last,  opened  to  her  rare  beauty, 
though  he  gave  no  token  of  his  tardy  awaken- 
ing to  any  one,  least  of  all  to  the  girl  herself. 
His  Aunt  Nora — who  after  his  father's  death 
had  remained  mistress  of  the  house,  and  to 
whom  the  well-built,  clean-tongued  young 
fellow,  with  his  personal  fastidiousnesses, 
his  enthusiasm  for  the  advancement  of  the 
business  and  all  the  men  employed  in  it, 
was  as  the  very  apple  of  her  eye — may  have 

v  J.    JL  v  v 

noticed  that  his  rides  in  the  direction  of  the 
Patterson  home  became  more  frequent,  but 
she  wisely  made  no  comment.  The  summer 
after  Miss  Ma'y  Joyce  read  a  tearful  vale- 
dictory to  her  schoolmates,  and  then,  with 
dimple  in  deadly  action,  stepped  into  the 
joys  of  recognized  young  ladyhood,  David 
Carroll  was  always  included  in  the  local 
merry-makings  that  she  planned  and  led. 
With  the  innate  coquetry  of  her  clime,  she 
made  each  of  the  young  men  who  clustered 
round  this  charming  blossom  on  the  old 
Patterson  tree,  feel  that  he  found  special 
favor  in  her  eyes,  yet  toward  the  quiet,  sedate 

94 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

young  lumberman  there  was  a  subtle  under- 
tone, a  less  superficial  graciousness  of  bearing 
that  encouraged  him,  unversed  as  he  was 
in  the  wiles  of  the  southern  girl,  to  regard 
her  manner  toward  him  as  expressing  more 
than  she  intended  it  to  mean.  In  other 
words,  he  took  too  much  for  granted,  and 
Joyce,  being  "a  woman  and  therefore  to  be 
wooed,"  secretly  resented  his  calm  assurance 
and  unauthorized  appropriation  of  herself, 
while  outwardly  she  alternated  between  moods 
of  wild  gaiety  of  which  he  was  often  the  butt, 
and  a  kind  of  petulant  tenderness  toward 
him  from  which  he  suffered  much  more 
acutely. 

With  the  coming  of  the  frost,  the  young 
woman  packed  her  dainty  furbelows  and 
started  out  for  a  round  of  visits,  leaving 
a  startled  young  man  free  to  bury  himself, 
his  thoughts  and  his  energies  in  his  business 
affairs.  She  wrote  an  occasional  note  of 
rhapsody  over  her  new  experiences  to  Mrs. 
Pritchett  but  poor  David  had  to  solace  him- 
self with  the  formal  "kind  regards"  or  "best 
wishes"  that  were  sent  him  in  these  missives 
to  his  aunt.  When  the  girl  returned  feverish 
from  a  winter  of  belledom  in  the  state  capital 
and  some  of  the  other  large  cities,  she  was 

95 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

followed   to   her   mountain   home   by   relays 

of  friends,  and  the  small  station  at  Hollywood 

was   set   a-flutter  by  the   bevies   of  youthful 

folk  of  both  sexes,  who  climbed  up  or  down 

the  high  steps  of  the  one  old-fashioned  car 

that  furnishes  daily  accommodation  to  such 

passengers   as   wish  to  journey   between   the 

'junction"    and    this    terminal    point.     The 

active,    earnest    business    man    felt    himself 

an  alien  in  the  midst  of  the  boisterous  youths, 

whose  sole  occupation  was  the  direction  of 

a  series  of  frolics  and  for  whom  life  had,  as 

yet,  no  serious  purpose,   and  the  fair-faced, 

daintily  gowned  damsels,  who  blithely  followed 

the  leadership  of  their  masculine  comrades. 

Gradually  JDavid  withdrew  from  the  circle 

of  pleasure  seekers  that  revolved  about  Joyce, 

spending  such  time  as  was  not  devoted  to 

his   commercial    interests    in   the   completion 

and  equipment  of  a  small  club-house  he  had 

designed  for  his  workmen.     His  devoted  aunt, 

who  had  hoped  and  believed  that  the  course 

of  his    love  was   to   run  smooth  in  spite  of 

the  old  adage,  divined  his  sense  of  loss  and 

loneliness  and  made  tentative  efforts  to  express 

her   sorrow   and   sympathy   for   this   turn   of 

affairs,  only  to  be  balked  by  a  cold  reticence 

that  was  as  baffling  as  it  was   heroic.     Mrs 

96 


The   Twelfth  Juror 

Pritchett  attributed  the  girl's  changed  manner 
to  the  influence  of  her  Cousin  Letitia,  who 
had  been  installed  mistress  of  the  Patterson 
homestead  some  months  prior  to  Joyce's 
graduation,  and  who  responded  most  cordially 
to  the  increased  tax  upon  her  hospitality 
engendered  by  the  girl's  social  popularity. 
Letitia,  disappointed  and  chagrined  on  finding 
conditions  in  the  southern  nome  so  widely 
at  variance  from  her  expectations,  and  hav- 
ing made  no  friends  among  the  mountain 
people,  revelled  in  the  deference  paid  her 
by  these  guests  from  the  "Blue  Grass" 

v  O 

section  of  the  state,  and  welcomed  the  visitors 
who  brought  with  them  the  atmosphere  of 
the  outer  world,  lending  her  hearty  co-opera- 
tion to  all  their  schemes  for  amusement. 
She  would  have  mocked  at  the  suggestion 
that  the  people  of  the  locality  were  bound 
to  resent  their  entire  exclusion  from  these 
festivities,  and  would  have  truthfully  denied 
any  responsibility  for  the  widening  breach 
between  David  Carroll  and  her  Cousin  Joyce. 
When  Bruce  Patterson  first  brought  his 
bride  to  the  old  Patterson  home,  she  was  duly 
visited  by  the  ladies  of  the  neighborhood, 
those  who  came  from  pure  goodwill  toward 
a  stranger  in  their  midst,  as  well  as  those 

97 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

versed  in  the  social  code,  but  she  had  shown 
them  each  and  all  an  indifference  that  (if 
they  could  but  have  known  it)  was  partly 
the  outward  sign  of  an  inward  rebellion 
against  an  awakening  to  wholly  unexpected 
and  inadequate  realities.  Mrs.  Pritchett,  who, 
notwithstanding  her  friendships  among  the 
natives  of  the  locality,  had  looked  forward 
to  the  coming  of  the  northern  bride  as  an 
event  of  peculiar  interest  to  herself,  had 
hastened  out  to  pay  her  respects,  walking 
all  the  distance  along  the  river  road  with  an 
agility  inspired  by  agreeable  anticipations. 

O          «/  A  */  O 

Her  eyes,  skilled  in  reading  character,  and 
her  mind,  experienced  in  discerning  motive, 
from  her  years  of  pilgrimage  among  the 
inhabitants  of  the  nethermost  parts  of  the 
globe,  were  on  the  alert  as  she  sat  and  chatted 
with  this  new  mistress  of  the  old  home,  and 
— her  spirit  was  less  buoyantly  content  as 
she  retraced  her  steps  Hollywoodward.  She, 
like  all  who  had  long  known  Bruce  Patterson, 
felt  for  him  great  esteem  and  admiration, 
and  looked  upon  him  as  representative  of 
a  high  type  of  manhood,  though  she  had  at 
times  regretted  that  he  was  not  cast  in  a  sterner 
mold. 

During   her   first   call    on    his    bride,    she 

98 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

had  caught  one  of  the  long  glances  that 
Letitia  had  already  begun  to  level  at  her  hus- 
band if  his  words  or  actions  were  not  in  accord 
with  her  desires,  and  the  elderly  caller  was 
not  deaf  to  the  New  Englander's  intentional 
repetition,  in  a  tone  more  wounding  than 
the  most  severe  outspoken  correction,  of 
one  of  her  own  grammatical  slips.  In  spite 
of  her  years  of  travel,  and  the  hours  that  she 
spent  poring  over  English  classics,  Mrs. 
Pritchett's  past  tenses  were,  truth  to  tell, 
unruly.  By  the  time  her  best  bonnet  was 
laid  away,  however,  she  had  been  willing 
to  ascribe  the  irritability  that  had  marred 
the  courtesy  of  the  bride  and  disconcerted 
her  guests,  to  what  in  reality  was  its  source 
— unreadiness  of  self-adjustment  to  an  un- 
familiar environment;  and  at  the  supper 
table  that  same  evening,  she  spoke  to  her 
nephew  of  her  afternoon  visit  as  one  of 
unqualified  pleasure. 

Letitia,  on  her  side,  had  been  struck  by  the 
marked  individuality  of  this  elderly  lady,  who 
had  sojourned  in  countries  much  more  remote 
than  any  to  which  she  had  ever  journeyed, 
and,  in  spite  of  the  faulty  tenses,  the  daughter 
of  Professor  Phelps  anticipated  a  more  inti- 
mate association  with  this  stranded  cosmo- 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

politan  than  with  any  of  the  younger,  more 
impressionable  women  of  the  region.  Further 
knowledge,  however,  had  clouded  the  mind 
of  each  with  misgivings  as  to  the  other. 
Mrs.  Pritchett's  doubts  on  first  acquaintance 
darkened  to  distrust  and  frank  dislike,  and 
Letitia  learned  to  shrink  before  the  un- 
expressed ridicule  that  often  lurked  in  Mrs. 
Pritchett's  twinkling  eyes. 

An  episode  occurred  during  Letitia's  first 
year's  residence  at  Hollywood  that  strengthened 
their  mutual  antipathy.  Young  Mrs.  Pat- 
terson, in  her  wish  to  cling  to  the  habits  of 
her  maidenhood,  organized  a  woman's  club, 
of  which  Mrs.  Pritchett,  of  course,  was  asked 
to  be  a  member.  The  club  was  modelled 
on  one  that  had  existed  for  many  years  in 
the  university  town  from  which  Letitia  had 
come,  and  had  its  days  for  the  discussion 
of  literature,  of  art,  of  village  improvement, 
and  what-not.  At  a  meeting  at  which  Ameri- 
can poets  and  their  writings  were  the  topic, 
Letitia  read  a  poem  that  at  that  time  was 
exciting  much  comment  all  over  the  land,  prin- 
cipally for  the  reason  that  the  writer's  meaning 
was  so  obscure  and  his  lines  so  involved  as  to 
create  an  uncertainty  in  most  minds  as  to  how 
they  were  to  be  properly  construed. 

100 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

After  the  reading,  a  discussion  was  in  order 
— each  line  being  duly  scanned,  and  some 
of  the  bolder  spirits  present  had  spoken, 
their  words  in  most  instances  being  only 
an  endorsement  of  Letitia's  expressed  opinion. 

Mrs.  Pritchett  was  accustomed  to  bring 
her  knitting  to  these  meetings,  and  while 
Mrs.  Patterson,  who  was  the  club  president, 
objected  to  this  practice  as  unseemly,  her 
hints  on  the  subject  had  fallen  so  unheeded 
that  she  lacked  the  courage  to  speak  more 
frankly.  On  the  occasion  alluded  to,  she 
at  last  turned  to  the  knitter  and  with  some 
impatience  asked : 

'Can  you  not  lay  down  your  work  long 
enough  to  give  us  your  thoughts  on  the 
subject,  Mrs.  Pritchett?  I  think  each  club 
member  should  be  ready  to  add  her  quota 
to  the  discussion  before  the  meeting." 

The  member  thus  addressed  looked  up 
with  that  guilelessness  of  expression  that  always 
presaged  mischief. 

"  I  guess  I've  lost  the  gist  of  what  has  been 
said,"  she  admitted.  'I'm  trying  a  new 
pattern,  and,  somehow,  it  don't  figure  out 
just  right." 

There  was  a  pause  in  which  the  president 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  this  too  industrious 

101 


The   Twelfth  Juror 

member  with  the  steely  stare  for  which  she 
was  noted. 

"Each  club  member  should  take  part 
in  the  discussions,"  she  repeated  dictatorially. 

Then  there  was  another  silence,  during 
which  the  other  ladies  present  moved  about 
uneasily,  and  then  Mrs.  Pritchett  placidly 
said: 

"I  don't  know  what's  come  over  me  this 
afternoon  that  I  should  recall  so  clearly 
a  man  that  boarded  in  the  same  hotel  we  did 
up  in  the  northern  lumber  district  years  ago. 
He  had  a  good  tenor  voice  and  like  Mary 
Jane  was  'very  fond  o'  singinY  and  every 
night  after  supper,  we'd  all  go  into  the  parlor 
and  set  round  the  big  stove  and  get  him 
started  to  sing  for  us.  One  of  the  songs 
he  sang,  I  remember,  was  called  'Lanigan's 
Ball,'  and  told  about  the  rows  and  the  ruptions 
of  an  Irish  dance.  In  the  last  verse  there 
was  a  line  that  ran,  as  he  sung  it,  'all  round 
the  room  in  a  quare  whirligig.''  Our  landlady 
was  a  woman  of  decided  opinions,  and  she 
insisted  that  he  sung  it  wrong — that  the 
word  was  'square' — *  a  square  whirligig.' 

"The  song-book  he  used  was  so  old  that 
the  print  had  become  indistinct,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  decide  just  what  the  word 

102 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

was  intended  for.  So  we  had  it — 'quare, 
quare,'  'square,  square.'  Some  sided  with 
one  and  some  with  the  other,  and  the  feeling 
run  so  high  that  finally  he  and  his  friends 
packed  up  and  left.  The  end  of  all  was 
that  they  lost  a  good  home,  for  the  other 
place  wasn't  near  so  well  kep',  and  our 
land  ady  had  some  empty  rooms  on  her 
hands.  I  don't  know  as  anything  was  gained 
by  the  dispute,"  she  commented  musingly, 
as  she  stuck  her  fifth  needle  in  her  mouth. 

The  president's  gavel  here  struck  the  table 
sharply  and  a  motion  to  adjourn  was  quickly 
put  and  carried. 

In  her  home  that  evening,  Letitia  repeated 
such  of  the  story  as  she  could  recall  to  illustrate 
her  frequent  assertion  that  Mrs.  Pritchett, 
though  an  interesting  woman,  could  not 
concentrate  her  mind  on  the  subject  in 
hand  (Letitia  always  attributed  disagreement 
with  her  to  mental  shortcoming)  and  was 
amazed  at  the  roars  of  laughter  with  which 
Bruce  greeted  the  absurd  tale — laughter  to 
which  Mary  Joyce,  who  happened  to  be  at 
home,  joined  her  hysterical  giggles.  It  is 
doubtful  if  Mrs.  Patterson  ever  clearly  under- 
stood the  cause  of  their  mirth,  but  thereafter 
Mrs.  Pritchett  was  permitted  to  knit  in 

103 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

peace   when   she   chose   to   attend   the  club. 

To  the  close-mouthed  David  alone  did 
his  aunt  give  any  expression  of  her  dislike 
for  the  transplanted  daughter  of  the  Puritans. 
To  him  she  summed  up  all  Letitia's  faults 
and  failings  under  the  term  vulgarity.  :<  What 
could  have  induced  Bruce  Patterson,  Bruce 
Patterson  of  all  men,  to  marry  such  a  woman  ?" 
she  would  ask  querulously,  and  then,  answer- 
ing her  own  question,  she  would  assert 
impressively :  "  There's  something  queer  about 
it  all,  David.  Something  we  don't  suspicion. 
Mark  my  words." 

When  whispers  of  Letitia's  rejection  of 
the  justice  of  the  Tyree  verdict  began  to 
circulate  through  the  village,  and  comments 
on  her  efforts  to  have  it  set  aside,  Mrs.  Pritch- 
ett  listened  to  the  gossips  with  a  kind  of 
unholy  joy.  She  acknowledged  to  herself 
that  she  was  glad  for  the  disagreement  be- 
tween the  husband  and  wife — that  Bruce 
still  had  a  mind  of  his  own,  and  she  almost 
prayed  that  some  way  might  be  opened  by 
which  Letitia  could  be  shown  that  the  decision 
was  just.  She  would  have  sacrificed  much 
of  her  time  and  comfort  to  be  able  to  produce 
infallible  evidence  of  Tyree's  guilt,  and  so 
end  the  hot  disputes  that  were  rife  in  the 

104 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

region,  although  it  is  but  fair  to  her  to  add 
that,  having  once  attained  this  result,  she 
would  afterwards  have  been  equally  eager 
and  untiring  in  her  efforts  to  persuade  the 
authorities  to  commute  the  sentence. 


105 


CHAPTER  VII 

"GRAN'PAP  TREAD  WAY,"  more  than  three 
score  years  ago,  built  a  home  for  his  bride 
in  the  hollow  around  which  roll  the  four 
hillsides  of  the  Treadway  farm.  As  built, 
the  little  nest  consisted  of  but  one  room, 
with  huge  fireplace  and  projecting  chimney; 
then,  as  the  oirdlings  began  to  flutter,  a 
second  cabin  had  been  erected  about  twelve 
feet  distant  from  the  first,  the  space  between 
the  two  being  floored  and  roofed,  and  forming 
what  is  dubbed  in  the  mountain  region 
"the  dog-trot,"  the  most  frequented  part 
of  every  home  except  in  wild  weather.  As 
time  flew  on  and  children  multiplied  and 
grew,  a  second  story  was  added,  with  a  stair- 
way leading  from  the  dog- trot  to  the  "gallery" 
above,  the  latter  in  reality  an  open  hall  onto 
which  the  three  chambers  opened.  The  old 
chimney,  built  of  short  logs  chinked  and 
smeared  with  clay,  still  did  service  as  heater 
at  one  end  of  the  dwelling,  but  the  newer 
fireplace  at  the  other  end  was  constructed 
of  stone  taken  from  the  surrounding  hills, 
and  was  of  vast  proportions.  From  this 

106 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

homestead  had  gone  out  thirteen  children, 
four  of  whom  had  settled  almost  within 
stone's  throw  of  the  paternal  acres,  and 
two  more  had  clung  even  more  closely  to 
the  old  nest  and  built  fairly  under  its  eaves. 
The  patriarch  was  nearing  his  ninetieth 
year,  but,  save  for  the  loss  of  his  teeth  and  a 
partial  deafness,  he  showed  few  signs  of 
senility.  His  long  white  beard  and  fierce 
eyebrows  well  nigh  concealed  features  that 
were  crowned  by  a  mat  of  snowy  hair.  Under 
this  thatch,  dark  eyes  flashed  and  twinkled 
when  he  was  interested  or  amused.  He  was 
given  to  making  two  boasts:  one  that  he 
could — and  did — on  festal  days  gather  under 
his  roof  his  thirteen  children,  sixty-two  grand- 
children, and  eleven  great-grandchildren;  the 
other  characteristic  on  which  he  prided  him- 
self being  that  he  was  that  supernaturally 
gifted  rarity,  the  seventh  son  of  a  seventh 
son.  It  was  his  great  sorrow  that  of  his 
thirteen  children  seven  were  girls,  so  that 
he  could  not  hope  to  transmit  his  occult 
powers  to  any  of  his  progeny.  For  some 
years  the  old  man  had  practically  performed 
no  manual  labor,  but  he  was  never  too  feeble 
to  respond  to  a  call  for  the  exercise  of  his 
gift  of  healing,  and  his  weather  prognostica- 

107 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

tions  were  regarded  as  infallible  throughout 
all  that  region. 

On  the  morning  that  Bruce  Patterson,  in 
his  endeavor  to  fulfil  Letitia's  wish  for  the 
use  of  the  small  cabin,  lifted  small  Enoch 
over  the  bars  in  the  high  rail  fence  at  the  end 
of  the  road  that  led  "up  to  Treadway's," 
he  saw  the  nonogenarian  sitting  under  the 
spreading  branches  of  a  gigantic  hickory 
tree  not  far  from  the  doorstep  of  the  old 
homestead.  The  patriarch  sat  alone,  for 
his  oldest  great-granddaughter,  Baity,  was 
the  only  feminine  member  of  his  household 
who  had  not  gone  with  the  other  women  of 
the  neighborhood  to  pick  wild  blackberries, 
the  men  were  out  in  the  field  and  the  children 
at  school.  Baity,  a  robust  girl  of  seventeen, 
with  an  attractive  face  and  the  magnificent 
carriage  of  all  the  young  girls  of  the  moun- 
tains, stood  at  a  loom  in  the  dog-trot,  and 
threw  the  shuttle  back  and  forth  with  much 
industry,  in  her  desire  to  complete  a  blue- 
and- white  Chariot- Wheel  "kiverlid"  that 
Gran'maw  Treadway  had  warped  for  her,  and 
which,  it  was  to  be  inferred  from  her  blushes 
and  smiles  when  any  comment  was  made  on 
her  progress,  was  designed  to  form  part 
of  her  bridal  plenishing.  While  she  wove 

108 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

she  sang, — her  powerful,  harsh  voice  ringing 
far  out  into  the  open,  and  Bruce  halted 
while  still  out  of  sight  himself  to  listen  with 
a  smile  to  the  monotonous  melody  and  quaint 
lines  of  a  ballad  often  heard  in  the  Cumber- 
land heights : 

THE  KENTUCKY  GIRL. 


My  parent*  treated  me  kind-ly  ,    None  other  child  but  me  ;  My  mind  being  let  on 

-Pl    IU  I   ljllji 

d-d    *l  d  J  o     1-^- 


e? 


- 

-       * 

ramblin'.  With  them  I  couldn't  agree.  My  mind  being  set  on  ramb-Kn'.This  wide  world 


•*••&•  *      -*• 


o'er,   I    left  my  aged  par-ems  Whom  never   to    see 

There  was  a  rich  old  farmer  lived  in  the  county  nigh, 
Who  had  an  only  daughter,  on  her  I  fixed  my  eye; 
She  bein'  so  young  and  handsome,  so  eager  and  so  fair, 
There  wasn't  a  girl  in  the  country  with  her  I  could  compare. 
I  asked  if  it  made  any  diff'runce  if  I  roved  over  the  plain  ? 
She  said  it  made  no  diff  'runce — if  I'd  come  back  again; 
She  said  she  would  be  true  to  me  till  death  proved  her  unkind — 
We  kissed,  shook  hands  and  parted — I  left  my  girl  behind. 

The  half-hearted  lover  "rambled" — of  all 
places! — to  Missouri,  and  after  recounting 
some  of  his  adventures  in  the  state  where 
optical  proof  is  required,  the  song  ends: 

One  night  as  I  was  walkin'  a-down  the  public  square, 
The  mail  was  just  arrivin',  the  post-boy  met  me  there; 

109 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

He  handed  me  a  letter  that  gave  me  to  understand 
That  the  girl  I  left  in  Kentucky  had  married  another  man. 

I  advanced  a  few  steps  further  not  knowing  these  words  to 

be  true, 

My  mind  bein'  shocked  with  mis'ry — I  didn't  know  what  to  do; 
My  mind  bein'  shocked  with  mis'ry,  my  body  all  racked  with 

pain  .  .  . 
I'll  spend  my  days  in  ramblin',  for  the  girl  I'll  ne'er  see  again. 

As  Mr.  Patterson  listened  to  this  ditty, 
he  remembered  how  as  a  boy  he  had  always 
to  struggle  to  keep  back  his  tears  when  this 
pathetic  climax  was  reached — the  philosophic 
resignation  of  the  jilted  swain  had,  in  those 
days,  made  no  appeal  to  his  mind — or  his 
risibilities.  He  now  laughed  and  applauded 
vigorously,  and  the  singer  peeped  around 
the  corner  of  the  building,  curiously. 

"Howdy,  Baity!"  he  called  cheerily,  ap- 
proaching the  house.  "Howdy,  Mr.  Tread- 
way!  Can  you  give  this  youngster  a  drink 
of  milk?  And  while  you  are  about  it,  Baity, 
you  might  bring  one  for  me  also.  It  is  very 
sultry  in  the  woods  today." 

"Weh-ell!  Bruce  Patterson!"  exclaimed 
the  girl,  blushing  and  bridling.  "You  been 
a-listenin*  to  my  screechin'?  Reckon  I  can 
find  some  milk  and  cream,  too,  if  it  ain't 
all  gone  blinky.  This  weather  turns  it  power- 

110 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

ful  quick.  You  sit  right  down  an'  talk  to 
Gran'pap  while  I  go  down  to  the  spring- 
house  an'  see.  You  don't  come-by  very 
often  these  days,  an'  he'll  be  glad  to  talk 
with  you.  Better  sit  on  a  chair,"  she  added 
quickly,  as  Bruce  started  to  throw  himself 
on  the  ground  by  the  side  of  the  old  gentleman. 
"  The  wood- ticks  an'  chiggers  don't  want  nary 
better  invite  to  dinner  than  to  have  you  a-call- 
in'  them  that-a-way." 

The  old  man  had  been  peering  out  from 
his  overhanging  brows,  shifting  himself  about 
in  his  chair  with  the  aid  of  his  stick.  "  Who'd 
yo'  say  hit  was,  Baity  ?"  he  called  querulously 
to  the  girl,  holding  a  hand  to  one  of  his  ears. 

"Why,  you  know  me,  Mr.  Treadway," 
said  Bruce,  bending  over  him.  "  My  name 
is  Patterson — Bruce  Patterson." 

"Oh!"  and  a  keen  flash  shot  from  the  dark 
eyes  towards  the  visitor.  :<Yes,  I  know 
Patterson — ol'  Hi.  But  I  ain't  seen  yo' 
for  a  powerful  long  spell,  an'  I  ain't  sure 
that  yo'  be  him.  That  yore  little  boy  yo' 
got  with  yo'  ?" 

"No,"  said  Bruce,  thinking  it  unnecessary 
to  explain  his  precise  identity.  "He's  a  little 
chap  that  is  staying  with  us  at  present,  and 
he  rode  with  me  to  the  upper  mine,  and  then 

111 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

we  walked  from  there  over  here.  Pretty 
stiff  walk  for  short  legs,  eh  ?" 

Noc,  who  had  been  staring  shyly  around, 
now  came  a  few  steps  nearer  the  old  man, 
who  held  out  a  shaking  hand  and  said  in 
kindly  tones: 

"An*  what  might  yore  name  be,  sonny? 
They've  fergot  to  tell  Gran'pap." 

"Name's  Noc,"  whispered  the  child  in 
embarrassment . 

"Noc?  I  never  heerd  nary  such  name. 
What  after  Noc?" 

"NocTyree." 

"Tyree!  Yo'  Jud  Tyree's  boy?"  and  the 
old  man  looked  in  bewilderment  to  Bruce. 
"Why,  'tain't  but  yes'day  that  somebody 
was  a-tellin'  me  somethin'  nother  bouten 
Judson  Tyree.  Now,  what  was  hit?  I've 
plumb  fergot." 

To  Bruce's  relief,  Baity  now  reappeared 
with  two  glasses  of  milk  and  a  plate  of  cold 
corn-pone.  "Weh-ell!"  she  ejaculated  with 
her  peculiar  lengthening  of  the  expletive, 
"  you  re  plumb  strange  to  me — you  and  your 
name.  Noc!  That's  new  to  me.  'Low  you 
come  from  somewheres  up  on  Troublesome, 
didn't  you?  That's  where  mos}  of  the  boys 
I  know  comes  from." 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"No,  I  didn't,"  muttered  the  child,  edging 
closer  to  Bruce  and  taking  a  glass  of  milk 
from  his  hand.  After  drinking  a  few  sips 
of  it,  he  suddenly  looked  the  laughing  girl 
in  the  face,  and  as  if  in  resentment  of  her 
joke,  he  said : 

"We  lives  a-way  up  yander,"  stretching 
his  short  arm  towards  the  highest  mountain 
peak ;  "  an* — an'  we've  got  a  cow  an'  a  calf — 
an' — an'  a  heifer  calf — an'  hens  an'  roosters, 
an'  jinny  mule,  an'  a  dog,  a  lots  nicer  dog 
than  yo've  got,"  with  a  scornful  look  at  a 
decrepit  hound  who  had  come  sniffing  about 
for  some  of  the  corn-pone. 

"You  ha-ave?"  retorted  the  girl,  drawing 
in  her  breath  as  though  overpowered  by  the 
magnitude  of  these  possessions.  "Then  how 
come  you're  a-way  down  here  'mong  us  pore 
folks?"  she  asked  teasinglv,  but  catching 
Bruce's  eyes  and  the  meaning  shake  of  his 
head,  she  stopped  and  looked  about  for 
some  means  of  amusing  the  child.  "Never 
mind  me  a-foggin'  you-all,  honey,"  she  said. 
"Kind-a  'pears  to  me  like  I  can  see  a  tow- 
head  a-stickin'  out  of  Aunt  Debby's  door. 
Maybe  her  Dan's  home  from  school  already. 
You  want  to  run  down  there  with  me  and 
;see?"  Noc  smiled  and  slipped  his  hand 

113 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

into  hers  with  perfect  good-fellowship,  and 
together  they  started  for  one  of  the  smaller 
houses  in  the  hollow. 

Bruce  seized  upon  this  opportunity  to 
speak  to  old  Mr.  Treadway  of  the  three- 
roomed  cabin,  that,  unoccupied  and  weather- 
stained,  stood  at  the  farthest  angle  of  the  farm. 

"  Mr.  Treadway,"  he  said,  "  one  reason 
I  came  out  today  was  to  ask  your  consent 
to-  letting  me  have  the  use  of  that  small, 
empty  house  of  yours,"  pointing  up  to  it. 
"Tyree's  wife  and  baby  and  this  boy  Noc 
may  want  to  remain  in  this  neighborhood 
for  a  time,  and  I  thought  I  would  ask  you 
if  you  would  be  willing  to  have  her  use  it." 
'Tyree's  wife,  did  yo'  say,  Patterson?" 
asked  the  old  man,  again  using  one  hand  for 
an  ear-trumpet.  "Why,  how  come  she  down 
this-a-way?  One  of  the  boys  was  a-tellin' 
me  that  they  got  Jud  Tyree  here  in  the  jail- 
house,  an'  was  a-goin'  to  take  him  to  Frank- 
fort an'  penitenture  him.  What's  his  wife 
a-doin'  down  this-a-way  ?" 

"I  suppose  she  came  so  as  to  be  near 
her  husband,"  answered  Bruce,  trying  not 
to  lose  patience  at  the  old  gentleman's  curiosity. 
"She  is  here  now,  and  I  want  to  get  some 
place  for  her  to  stay  where  she  will  feel 

114 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

comfortable." 

"  Bill,  my  grandson,  was  a-tellin'  me  yes'day 
evenin'  that  he  'lowed  there'd  be  a  new 
trial  of  that  Tyree  case,"  said  the  patriarch, 
his  memory  of  recent  events  becoming  more 
clear.  "Yo*  heerd  anything  bouten  that? 
Why,  Bruce  Patterson,"  with  sudden  recogni- 
tion of  the  identity  of  his  guests,  "yo'  was 
one  of  them  jury-men  that  found  Tyree  guilty 
of  murder;  what  yo'  got  to  tell  me  bouten 
that?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  it,  Mr.  Tread- 
way,"  looking  into  the  wrinkled  face  now 
alert  with  interest,  "except  that  from  the 
evidence  offered  we  believed  that  he  committed 
the  crime." 

"But,  young  man,  down  this-a-way  we 
don't  call  gettin'  red  of  them  sneakin'  revenue 
officers  murder.  No,  sir!  'Tain't  killin'  a 
man  to  send  a  bullet  into  one  of  them.  Why, 
sir,  them  miser'ble  houn's  '11  do  mos'  ary 
derned  thing  to  send  in  a  big  report  to  gov'- 
ment.  They  got  to  make  some  show  o* 
earnin'  their  pay  or  they'll  get  fired — an* 
they  ain't  so  powerful  particular  how  they 
earn  hit.  Why,  sir,  down  to  the  jail-house 
today  there's  an  old  woman  from  up-country 
here,  jes'  as  pretty-behaved  a  woman  as  ever 

115 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

yo'  see.  An'  what's  she  there  for?  She's 
in  there,  sir,  so  thet  some  damn  blue-coat 
can  add  her  name  to  the  list  he  fixes  up  for 
eov'ment  to  look  over.  She's  there,  sir, 
for  sellin'  one  glass  o'  moonshine  four  years 
ago,  an'  she's  been  jailed  three  times  a'ready 
for  sellin'  that  same  glass  o'  liquor.  Yo'  go 
down  there,  sir,  an'  she'll  tell  yo*.  One  o' 
them  whelps  that  makes  their  livin'  a-prowlin' 
round  an'  a-smellin'  out  what  their  neighbors 
is  a-doin'  comes-by  her  way  bouten  once  in 
so  often  an'  brings  her  in,  an'  she,  pore  soul, 
is  too  dumb  an'  too  scared  to  make  ary  fight. 
A  woman  ol'  enough  to  be  yore  mother,  an' 
as  timid  as  a  wild  bird!  It  ain't  murder 
to  stop  no  sech  devilment  as  that. 

"I  ain't  a-blamin'  gov'ment  nary  mite, 
neither.  Gov'ment's  got  too  many  big 
things  to  think  about  to  care  much  about 
knowin'  what  goes  on  down  this-a-way.  Some 
one  had  ought  to  go  an'  tell  hit.  Yo'd  ought 
to,  Bruce  Patterson!"  with  increasing  vehe- 
mence and  with  full  cognizance  of  the  man 
whom  he  addressed  at  last.  "That  was 
what  Hiram,  yore  Pappy,  aimed  to  have  yo' 
do; — straighten  out  an  such  crooked  con- 
trivances here  in  the  mountains.  Why,  I 
kin  remember  jes'  as  if  hit  was  yes'day,  one 

116 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

time  nigh  onto  twenty-five  years  back,  when 
Hi  rid  out  here  an'  fetched  yo'  along.  Yo' 
was  a  peart  young  shaver,  same  size  as  that 
one  that  come  along  o'  yo'  today;  an*  Hiram 
says  to  me — 'Treadway,  do  yo'  want  to 
know  what  I'm  aimin'  to  train  this  son  o' 
mine  to  do?  I'm  a-goin'  to  have  him 
learnt  to  help  these  here  mountains.  A 
blam'  lot  of  misdoin'  an'  wrong  has  crep' 
in  betwixt  these  hilltops,  an'  some  one  s 

fot  to  turn  to  an'  scare  hit  out.'  I  kin  see 
im  now,  jes'  as  plain!  He  sot  on  his  horse 
right  over  yon,  an'  the  clouds  come  a-bilin' 
an'  a-bilin'  up  over  the  mountain — an'  yo' 
was  a-hangin'  to  yore  Pappy's  stirrup,  an' 
a-lookin'  up  in  his  face  an'  smilin'  when 
he  said  hit.' 

The  old  man's  voice  was  smothered  by 
a  violent  cough,  and  Bruce  said  hurriedly: 

"But  this  case  of  Tyree,  Mr.  Treadway, — 
all  evidence  showed  that  he  had  made  threats 
to  kill  the  officer,  and  when  an  opportunity 
came  he  shot  him.  Could  there  be  any 
verdict  but  guilty  ?" 

"As  I  understand  hit,"  Gran'pap  replied 
judicially,  "murder,  or  ho-my-cide  means 
tillin'  a  maw,  or  a  human  o'  one  sect  or  the 
other.  Now  them  revenues,  they  ain't  men. 

117 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Near's  I  kin  figure  out  this  one  that  Tyree 
shot  needed  kulin9.  I  ain't  disputin*  but 
what  yo'  believe  yo'  give  in  the  right  verdict, 
but  yo'  know  as  well  as  me,  how  these  lawyer 
fellers  kin  fix  up  things — puttin'  words  in 
the  witnesses'  mouths  that  they  don't  sense 
the  meanin'  of,  an'  a-jugglin'  an'  pettifoggin'." 
The  white  head  sank  against  the  back  of 
the  chair  in  exhaustion,  and  Baity,  who  had 
returned  to  her  loom,  ran  from  the  dog-trot 
with  a  gourd  filled  with  fresh  water  and  held 
it  to  her  great-grandfather's  lips. 

"Is  Mary  Joyce  at  home  now?"  she  asked 
of  Bruce,  as  the  old  man  slowly  revived. 

"Yes,"  answered  Bruce,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  as  the  face  lying  back  against  the 
cushions  showed  a  faint  color.  "Why  don't 
you  come  in  and  see  her,  Baity?  You  and 
she  were  great  friends  that  year  you  both 
went  to  the  academy  at  Winchester." 

"Weh-ell,"  ejaculated  the  girl,  fidgeting 
from  one  foot  to  the  other,  and  playing 
with  her  apron  strings,  "I  sure  would  like 
to  see  her,  but  I  ain't  got  much  time  now-a- 
days  for  visitin',"  and  a  telltale  color  flooded 
her  cheeks.  "You  ask  her  to  come-by  some 
day  soon.  I've  got  right  smart  to  tell  her," 
with  a  giggle.  "  Tell  her  to  come-by  ary  day." 

118 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

A  shrill  cry  from  Noc  interrupted  the 
message,  as  he,  followed  closely  by  a  larger 
boy,  came  running  round  the  corner  of  the 
house.  Noc  made  straight  for  Bruce  and 
threw  himself  into  the  man's  arms.  "He 
says,  he  says,"  he  gasjred,  with  a  gesture 
to  the  boy  who  was  behind  him,  and  lifting 
a  face  blanched  by  terror  .  .  . 

"What  you  been  a-sayin',  you  Dan?" 
demanded  Baity  sternly.  *  Ain't  you  'shamed 
of  yourself  to  scare  a  pore  little  boy — a  great 
big  mutton-head  like  you!" 

"Didn't  say  nare  thing  to  scare  him," 
mumbled  the  larger  boy.  "I  didn't  do  nare 
thing  to  hurt  him.  He  was  a-tellin'  all  what 
they  got  to  his  house,  an'  what  he  could  do, 
an'  what  his  Pap  could  do,  an'  a-crowin', 
an'  a-struttin',  an'  I  'lowed  thar  wasn't 
much  his  Pap  could  do  now." 

"He,  he  says — they're  a-goin'  to  kill  my 
Pappy,"  he  shrieked,  clutching  Bruce's  arm 
tight  in  horror.  "  But  yo'  won't  let  'em,  will 
yo'  ?  Yo9  won't  let  'em  kill  my  Pap?" 

"There,  there,"  said  Bruce  soothingly, 
pressing  the  trembling  figure  to  him,  wrhile 
Baity  marched  the  offender  off  against  his 
repeated  protests  that  he  "hadn't  done  nare 
thing."  'You  and  I  must  be  starting  for 

119 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

home,  Noc.  We  have  to  walk  back  to  the 
mine,  and  then  you  are  to  drive  me  down 
from  there." 

"Yo'  might  stop  and  look  into  that  little 
house  as  yo'  go  long-by,  Patterson,"  sug- 
gested old  Mr.  Treadway,  who  had  been 
dozing  during  this  episode  with  the  children 
and  had  heard  nothing  of  it.  "Hit's  in 
tolerable  pore  shape,  I  reckon.  Bill,  he 
onct  aimed  to  fix  up  some  latchet  work 
betwixt  hit  an*  the  road,  so's  't  folks  couldn't 
peek  into  the  window  so  easy,  but  he  ain't 
never  finished  hit  yet.  Yo're  welcome  to 
use  the  house  as  long  as  yo'  want  hit,  Bruce. 
An'  yo'll  come  an'  see  Gran'pap  ever  day 
when  yore  a-livin'  out  here,  won't  yo'  ? ' 
he  added  coaxingly  to  the  little  boy  whose 
face  was  hidden  against  Bruce's  knee. 

"No,"  answered  Noc  decidedly.  "I  won't 
come  a-nigh  whar  Dan  is — never."  Then 
he  rose  and  walked  silently  to  the  bars,  but 
as  Bruce  stooped  to  lift  him  over  into  the 
road,  two  thin  arms  were  flung  around  his 
neck,  and  convulsive  sobs  broke  forth  anew 
from  the  child  as  he  repeated  wildly — "Yo* 
won't  let  'em  kill  my  Pappy,  will  yo'?  Yo* 
won't  let  'em!" 

Troubled    and    depressed,    Mr.    Patterson 

120 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

walked  nervously  up  and  down  one  of  the 
porches  of  his  home  towards  the  end  of  that 
day,  smoking  and  patting  the  head  of  Meh 
Lady  who  kept  pace  with  him,  when  Letitia 
descended  the  stairway  and  then  went  on 
down  into  the  yard.  She  was  clad  in  the 
most  unusual  fashion  for  one  whose  personal 
appearance  always  evinced  such  scrupulous 
care.  Her  hair  was  covered  by  a  gaily 
bordered  towel,  arranged  after  the  mode 
of  a  Roman  headdress, — a  voluminous  apron 
concealed  her  skirts,  and  sundry  streaks 
and  smudges  of  dust  were  visible  on  her 
cheeks  and  forehead.  Over  her  arms  hung 
two  brilliant  patchwork  quilts,  which  she 
spread  over  a  low  bush  in  the  yard,  and  then 
returned  and  faced  her  husband's  questioning 
smile  with  a  severity  of  mien  that  froze  the 
teasing  comment  he  had  been  about  to  utter 
upon  his  lips. 

"  I  have  been  rummaging  through  the  store- 
room, to  see  what  could  be  spared  toward 
making  Mrs.  Tyree  comfortable  up  there," 
she  said,  "  and  I  have  selected  a  few  articles 
that  have  not  been  in  use  since  I  came 
to  this  house,  and  probably  not  for  a  long 
time  before  then.  I  wish  you  would  come 
and  look  them  over  and  see  if  there  is  any 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

objection,  sentimental  or  otherwise,  to  loan- 
ing them  to  her." 

"  That  is  quite  unnecessary,  Letitia,"  Bruce 
replied  gently.  "No  one  will  question 
your  judgment  in  the  use  of  anything  you 
find  in  this  house.  That  Treadway  cabin 
is  in  poor  repair,  I  fear — hardly  weather- 
proof. Does  Mrs.  Tyree  plan  to  stay  until 
the  frost  comes  ?  If  so,  we  must  make  some 
changes  up  there." 

"She  will  stay  until  we  see  if  justice  is  to 
be  done  her  husband,"  was  the  bitter  reply. 

"Does  she  see  him  often?  What  has  he 
to  say  about  her  remaining  here  ?" 

Letitia  faltered.  There  was  a  weak  fibre 
in  the  romantic  fabric  she  had  been  weaving 
with  threads  spun  from  her  own  imagination, 
of  the  devotion  of  this  mountain  wife  and 
husband,  which  she  was  loath  to  admit 
even  to  herself;  but  she  finally  said,  slowly: 

"She  went  to  the  jail  soon  after  she  came, 
but  Tyree  refused  to  see  her.  I  don't  know 
why — probably  a  feeling  of  pride  against 
receiving  a  visit  from  his  wife  while  he  was 
behind  prison  bars.  She  did  not  ask  to  go 
again,  and  I  have  not  urged  it,  because  I 
have  been  so  sure  that  Tyree  would  be  at 
liberty  so  soon.  As  things  are — I  will  ask 

122 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

her  about  going  once  more." 

She  had  turned  to  the  steps  when  Bruce 
spoke  again. 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  how  she  happens 
to  be  here,  Letitia.     I  do  not  understand." 

"One  of  the  miners  is  a  relative  of  hers, 
and  it  seems  she  has  lived  in  the  village. 
She  knew  the  location  of  the  jail  to  which 
she  was  told  her  husband  was  taken,  and  she 
rode  over  with  a  neighbor  of  hers.  Then 
she  and  the  children  crowded  the  cabin  of 
her  friends  beyond  what  even  a  mountaineer 
considers  decent,  and  they  were  all  trying 
to  persuade  her  to  go  back  to  her  own  home 
and  await  the  outcome  of  the  trial  there, 
when  I  heard  of  her  and  went  to  see  her. 
She  and  the  children  were  so  destitute  of 
clothing,  that  the  first  thing  to  be  done  was 
to  make  them  something  to  wear,  and  I  told 
her  I  would  help  her  with  her  sewing.  Of 
course,  to  accomplish  that,  it  was  easier 
to  have  her  come  and  stay  here,  and  I  thought 
she  could  use  Toppy's  old  room  at  Aunt 
Philomee's  without  inconveniencing  any  one, 
but  that  colored  autocrat  took  it  upon  herself 
to  be  offended  and  insisted  on  leaving  her 
home  and  going  to  stay  at  Toppy's.  There 
was  no  need  for  it  and  no  reason  in  it,  but, 

123 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

as  you  know,  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained 
by  arguing  with  your  cook.  I  did  not  think 
it  mattered  much  either  way,  for  I  was  con- 
fident that  Mr.  Tyree  would  be  acquitted, 
and  able  to  take  his  family  back  where 
they  belong.  I  am  absolutely  sure  that  he 
is  innocent  of  the  crime  for  which  he  is 
condemned." 

"  Would  you  object  to  telling  me  why  you 
are  so  confident  of  his  innocence?"  asked 
Bruce,  gladly  taking  advantage  of  his  wife's 
willingness  to  talk  more  freely  on  the  subject 
that  haunted  him.  "Has  Mrs.  Tyree  given 
you  any  proof  of  this?  Has  she  talked 
much  with  you  in  regard  to  the  circum- 
stances ?" 

"Yes,  she  has  talked,"  answered  Letitia. 
"She  has  given  no  proof  that  would  satisfy 
a  juror,  perhaps,  but  she  has  told  of  many 
things  that  could  be  investigated,  and  that 
pieced  together  would  form  convincing  proof. 
And  when  it  comes  to  proof,"  and  her  eyes 
gleamed,  "what  conclusive  evidence  was 
offered  against  the  man?  I  have  heard 
before  of  instances  in  these  mountain  courts 
where  accusation  was  evidence — where  men 
were  railroaded  to  the  penitentiary,  or  beyond, 
in  order  to  promote — ' 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Bruce  quietly,  though 
he  had  grown  white,  "you  intimated  some- 
thing of  the  kind  last  evening."  Then  as 
her  grey  eyes  riveted  themselves  upon  his, 
he  continued  with  less  spirit — "You  have 
urged  Tyree's  counsel  to  demand  a  rehearing: 
Letitia,  if  you  know  of  any  facts,  if  you  know 
of  any  means  of  getting  at  evidence  that 
will  free  Tyree,  for  God's  sake  tell  me  and  I 
will  do  all  that  is  possible  to  liberate  this  man. 
In  convicting  him,  I  acted  in  good  faith, 
I  swear  I  did,  but  I  am  willing  to  admit  that 
my  judgment  was  erroneous,  and  to  do  all  I 
can  to  search  for  and  furnish  the  proof  of 
his  innocence  if  you  think  it  is  to  be  found." 

There  was  a  long,  tense  silence,  then  the 
flashing  eyes  were  lowered,  a  gleam  of  triumph 
in  their  depths,  and  Letitia  began  to  mount 
the  stairs.  "We  will  have  a  talk  with  Mrs. 
Tyree  this  evening,"  was  all  she  said  as  she 
disappeared. 

When  the  evening's  talk  had  ended,  Bruce 
knew  that  nothing  definite  had  been  said — 
knew  that  Letitia  had  acted  as  chief  spokes- 
woman, and  that  Zulemmy  had  simply  ac- 
quiesced in  a  half-comprehending  way  to  the 
ideas  advanced  to  her;  but  he  had  promised 
to  investigate  the  vague  possibilities  suggested, 

125 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

and  Letitia  had  the  manner  of  a  victor  as 
she  led  the  way  back  from  Aunt  Philomee's 
cabin  to  the  house.  She  did  not  guess  that 
other  forces  than  her  wish  and  her  will  were 
impelling  Bruce  to  so  strange  a  course;  that 
more  potent  than  her  reiterated  belief  in 
Judson  Tyree's  innocence,  were  the  fears 
by  which  Bruce's  mind  was  held  in  thrall, 
fears  partly  engendered  by  the  changed  atti- 
tude of  all  his  neighbors  towards  him,  but 
more  than  all  by  the  echo  of  a  child's  agonized 
plea — 

"  Fo'  won't  let  'em  kill  my  Pappy,  will  yo'?" 


126 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HAD  Zulemmy  Tyree  been  a  person  given 
to  self-analysis,  she  would  have  noticed  that 
her  dominant  emotion  on  exchanging  Aunt 
Philomee's  cabin  on  the  Patterson  Place 
for  the  little  Treadway  house,  was  that  of 
one  released  from  irksome  restraint. 

Mrs.  Letitia  Patterson,  though  frantically 
untiring  in  her  benefactions  to  whomsoever 
happened  to  be  the  object  of  her  charity 
and  interest  for  the  nonce,  was  apt  to  exact 
from  the  recipients  of  her  bounty  not  only 
an  exact  conformity  to  her  opinions  and 
ideas,  but  oft-ejaculated  encomiums  on  her 
kindness,  and  the  most  fulsome  flattery  of 
her  generous  traits.  Unconsciously,  perhaps, 
she  required  her  beneficiaries  to,  as  it  were, 
place  lighted  candles  on  the  altar  of  her 
self-esteem,  and  instances  were  not  unknown 
where  those  to  whom  she  extended  her 
spasmodic  patronage  had  been  of  the  opinion 
that  the  game  was  not  worth  the  candle. 
The  daughter  of  the  highlands  over  whom 
she  now  held  the  wing  of  her  protection 
was  too  thoroughly  a  child  of  ease,  too  averse 

127 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

to  all  exertion  of  mind  or  body,  to  take  any 
initiative  steps  towards  withdrawal  from  a 
surveillance  that  would  have  galled  most 
women,  but  she  was  glad  that  circumstances 
had  led  her  beyond  its  hourly  exercise. 

Letitia  had  insisted  on  certain  reforms  in 
personal  habits,  as,  for  instance,  that  not  alone 
the  baby,  but  each  of  the  trio  should  have 
a  daily  bath,  and  that  the  clothing  of  each 
should  be  kept  whole  and  clean.  She  also 
had  her  theories  as  to  the  proper  diet  for 
young  children,  and  other  vagaries  that  neces- 
sitated activity.  From  broad  hints  on  these 
matters,  she  passed  to  definite  statements 
and  then  to  positive  commands. 

"It  costs  you  nothing,  Mrs.  Tyree,  to  be 
neat  and  tidy  about  your  person  and  to  keep 
the  children  so,  and  while  you  are  here  with 
me,  I  shall  expect  these  things  to  have  atten- 
tion. Situated  as  you  are  at  present,  I  am 
sure  that  what  I  ask  of  you  cannot  overtask 
your  time  or  strength.'  Even  Zulemmy's 
rudimentary  intelligence  had  caught  the  sting 
in  that  last  sentence,  and  it  made  her  restless 
and  uneasy  when  in  Mrs.  Patterson's  presence. 

Noc  was  as  fearlessly  natural  under  all 
circumstances  as  only  an  untutored  child 
dares  be,  and  was  but  slightly  abashed  by 

128 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Letitia's  reiterated  corrections  and  the  scowls 
that  furrowed  her  brow  when  his  small  hands 
were  outstretched  for  any  of  her  belongings. 
The  boy  had  grown  extremely  fond  of  Miss 
Joyce,  who  romped  and  played  with  him 
and  Meh  Lady,  and  he  silently  worshipped 
Bruce,  but  he  was  glad  to  escape  from  the 
rare  atmosphere  of  a  childless  home  to  a 
haven  where  a  lad  could  breathe  more  natu- 
rally. The  baby,  too,  was  less  fretful  in  the 
general  serenity,  and  it  was  a  happy  little 
family  that  dropped  the  tiresome,  recently 
acquired  habits  at  the  threshold  of  Bill 
Tread  way's  property. 

Letitia,  after  ransacking  every  pantry,  closet 
and  place  of  storage  in  the  Patterson  home, 
had  grieved  that  there  was  so  little  that  was 
suitable  for  furnishing  the  temporary  abiding 
place  to  which  she  was  transferring  her 
proteges,  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  Zulemmy 
had  never  before  possessed  one  quarter  as 
many  utensils,  dishes  and  other  furniture 
as  had  been  carted  out  for  her  comfort  and 
service.  Joyce's  personal  contribution  to  the 
outfit  had  been  a  few  bright  pictures  that 
in  her  younger  days  she  had  deemed  treas- 
ures of  art,  but  which  later  years  had  banished 
to  the  attic,  and  a  few  of  the  multiplicity 

129 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

of  clay  jugs  and  jars  that  she  had  molded 
and  glazed  while  at  school.  Zulemmy  and 
her  stepson  were  almost  breathless  in  their 
admiration  of  these  "pretties,"  as  the  moun- 
taineer terms  anything  purely  decorative, 
and  would  have  sacrificed  every  other  one 
of  their  new  possessions  to  retain  these. 

Mrs.  Tyree  seldom  mentioned  her  husband 
now;  he  had  again  refused  to  see  her  when 
she  went  to  the  Hollywood  jail  before  his 
removal  to  the  state  penitentiary,  and  what 
her  thoughts  of  him  were  no  one  could  guess. 
Probably  her  mind  dwelt  upon  him  infre- 
quently, for  her  mental  color  was  apt  to  be 
the  reflection  of  her  environment; — if  she 
and  those  in  whom  she  was  immediately 
concerned  were  in  physical  comfort,  she  was 
content  and  the  rest  of  the  world  might 
go  hang. 

The  second  evening  after  her  arrival  at 
her  new  shelter,  she  went  down  to  the  spring 
near  the  old  Treadway  homestead  for  a  pan 
of  water,  and,  in  the  twilight,  a  tall  figure 
approached  and  a  man's  voice  called  gaily: 

*  Howdy,  Zulemmy !  You  ain't  fergot  your 
old  friends,  have  you?"  and  she  looked  up 
into  Bill  Treadway's  laughing  blue  eyes. 
Bill's  months  of  "soldiering"  had  trained 

130 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

him  to  hold  himself  erect  and  to  keep  his 
mop  of  blonde  hair  close  clipped,  as  well  as 
to  shave  all  his  face  clean,  except  for  the  soft 
mustache  that  shaded  his  upper  lip.  He 
had  grown  into  something  of  a  dandy,  too, 
regarding  his  collars  and  neck-ties,  for  which 
he  sent  to  one  of  the  mail-order  enter- 
prises of  the  North,  and  upon  occasions  wore 
the  cuffs  with  which  he  had  provided  himself 
while  away  from  home.  His  features  were 
quite  regular,  and,  altogether,  when  he  was 
free  from  the  influence  of  liquor,  his  appear- 
ance was  such  as  to  attract  any  woman. 

Zulemmy,  who  had  all  the  coquetry  of  the 
Carmen  temperament,  hesitated  a  moment 
with  parted  lips  and  knitted  brows,  as  if 
endeavoring  to  recall  this  man  to  her  memory. 

"Why,  I'm  Bill  Treadway,"  he  said  with 
a  jolly  laugh.  "I  saw  you  when  you  was 
a-livin'  to  Dave  Carroll's.  Let  me  carry 
that  bucket  for  you,"  and  taking  it  from 
her  hand,  he  turned  and  walked  beside 
her  up  the  slope  that  led  to  her  abiding 
place.  "You'll  nave  to  make  up  your  mind 
to  be  awful  nice  to  me,"  he  continued  as  they 
went  along;  "I'm  your  landlord,  you  know; 
that's  my  house  you're  a-livin'  in  now." 

She  shot  a  long  glance  at  him  from  beneath 

131 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

her  dark  lashes.  "I  ain't  heerd  as  yo've 
made  yo're  claim  to  hit  good  yit,"  she  said. 
"When  did  hit  happen?" 

"Ho,  you've  been  a-listenin'  to  Gran'pap's 
yarn  about  it.  They've  been  a-tellin'  you 
that  I  ain't  to  have  it  till  I'm  married.  Well, 
I  reckon  it  won't  be  hard  for  me  to  make 
good  my  title  to  it  when  I  git  good  and  ready." 

"Girls  is  powerful  partic'lar  now-a-days," 
with  a  side  look  and  a  mischievous  smile. 

"I  'low  tain't  the  girls  that's  so  damn 
partic'lar  this  time,"  ne  returned,  twisting 
nis  mustache  with  his  free  hand.  "Trouble 
is,  you  see,  that  ary  woman  I  take  a  fancy 
to  has  got  a  husband  a'ready." 

"We-11,"  drawled  Zulemmy,  who  was  en- 
joying this  encounter  immensely,  "  that  hadn't 
ought  to  stop  yo'  from  gittin'  the  one  you 
want.  I've  heerd  yo'  was  powerful  handy 
with  a  shot-gun." 

"Yes,  I  am  so,"  said  the  young  man,  his 
thoughts  quickly  diverted  to  a  new  channel. 
"Say!  I've  got  a  new  revolver  over  home; 
prettiest  little  trick  you  ever  seen.  Shoots 
a  good-sized  bullet  without  makin'  hardly 
no  noise.  I'll  bring  it  up  some  evenin'  and 
show  you." 

They  had  now  reached  the  cottage,   and 

132 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

he  rested  the  pail  on  the  door-sill  and  hesitated 
as  his  companion  said  nothing  about  his 
entering;  but  she  was  much  too  attractive 
for  him  to  part  with  so  soon. 

"I'll  just  step  in  now  and  take  a  look  at 
that  roof,"  he  suggested.  "Gran'pap  was 
a-tellin'  that  there  was  a  hole  in  one  corner 
big  enough  for  a  cat  to  jump  through,  and  I 
may  not  be  comin'  by  again  soon.  Howdy, 
sonny,"  to  Noc,  who  stole  in  from  the  back 
of  the  house.  "You  just  help  your  uncle 
move  this  bed  out  of  the  way,  and  we'll  fix 
the  place  up  so't  the  moon  can't  tumble  through 
on  to  you-all  tonight." 

He  climbed  up  and  made  some  temporary 
repair,  and  afterwards  remained,  joking  and 
laughing  with  Zulemmy,  whose  eyes  had 
grown  very  dark  and  whose  cheeks  burned 
a  deep  scarlet.  When  he  finally  left,  it  was 
with  the  promise  to  return  the  next  day  with 
the  proper  tools  and  make  his  repairs  more 
permanent. 

He  appeared  at  the  door  the  following 
evening,  with  a  revolver  in  his  hand,  and 
Zulemmy  noticed  that  he  had  been  drinking. 
As  is  generally  the  case,  liquor  benumbed 
the  good  elements  of  the  man's  character, 
and  stimulated  all  that  was  vicious  and  bad 

133 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

in  him.  He  had  brought  no  tools  with  him, 
but  he  insisted  on  firing  the  revolver  over  and 
over  again,  to  the  joy  of  small  Enoch  and  the 
terror  of  Zulemmy.  To  all  her  coaxing, 
he  would  only  laugh  and  declare  that  he 
"wasn't  doin'  nary  harm — on'y  shootin'  at 
random." 

"Ever  hear  that  tale  'bout  old  Squire 
Doty  an'  the  boys  that  some  fresh  officer 
brought  in  for  a-firin'  off  their  guns  in  the 
woods,  Zulemmy?"  he  asked.  "One  of  'em 
was  Abner  Evans,  and  when  Squire  questioned 
him  what  he  was  a-firin'  at,  Ab  'lowed  he  was 
on'y  a-firin'  at  random.  Pete  Smith,  he  come 
next  in  order.  He  was  scared,  and  thought 
he  couldn't  give  no  better  excuse,  so  he 
'lowed  he  was  on'y  firin'  at  random.  Then 
come  Fred  Gofoth's  turn,  and  as  the  other 
boys  'peared  to  have  got  off  easy,  he  reckoned 
he  d  play  the  same  card,  so  he  up  and  'lowed 
he'd  on'y  been  firin'  at  random.  Old  Squire 
was  mad  as  blazes  by  that  time.  *I  fine 
you  three  dollars  each,'  he  says,  'and  I'm 
plumb  ready  to  jail  ary  one  of  you  for  bein' 
such  poor  shots.  I  want  some  o'  you  boys 
to  hit  that  ol'  Random  some  day  an'  kill 
him,  so's  I  won't  hev  to  listen  to  nary  more 
stories  'bout  firin'  at  him.'  I'll  just  leave 

134 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  little  trick  here  with  you,  Zulemmy," 
he  said  as  he  at  last  rose  to  depart,  after 
an  hour  during  which  the  heart  of  his  hostess 
had  fluttered  between  the  exciting  pleasure 
of  his  presence  and  bold  flattery,  and  a  fear 
of  what  he  might  be  led  to  do  while  in  his 
present  condition  and  with  the  revolver  in 
his  hands. 

"Oh,  no!"  she  responded,  looking  with 
terror  at  the  glittering  object,  for,  like  many 
of  the  mountain  women,  she  was  mortally 
afraid  of  anything  in  the  form  of  firearms. 
"  Better  take  hit  along  with  yo',  Bill." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  do  no  such  thing,"  he  said 
sullenly,  and  his  face  grew  ugly.  "  I'm  a-goin' 
to  leave  it  right  here  with  you.  You're 
under  my  roof,  Zulemmy,  so  I'm  bound  to 
look  after  you  and  pertect  you."  Then, 
suddenly,  he  leaned  closer  to  her  and  asked 
in  a  husky  whisper:  "Say,  Zulemmy,  tell 
me  how  you  feel  about  Jud.  I  heerd  to-day 
that  they  don't  aim  to  give  him  another  trial 
after  all.  I  reckon  you'll  never  git  him  back." 

Zulemmy  shivered  and  cowered,  hiding 
her  face  in  her  hands.  She  hated  to  talk 
about  Jud — poor  Jud,  who  already  seemed 
as  far  removed  from  her  and  her  life  as  though 
he  had  been  transported  to  another  planet. 

135 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Bill  stood  and  looked  at  the  shrinking 
figure  for  a  moment,  and  then  his  eyes  blazed 
and  he  swore.  "Don't  you  be  a-grievin' 
so,  Zulemmy,"  he  coaxed.  "It's  all  the 
doin'  of  that  whelp,  Bruce  Patterson,"  with 
the  rising  anger  of  a  reasonless  man.  "He's 
been  aimin'  to  git  back  with  them  political 
friends  of  his,  and  he's  just  used  Jud  and 
you  as  a  handle  to  git  him  there.  I'll  .  .  ." 

"No,  no!  He  ain't,"  answered  the  woman, 
fearful  of  the  explosion  of  this  mine  that 
her  words  had  fired.  "He  ain't  meanin' 
we-uns  nary  harm.  'T  ain't  him  that's 
holdin'  Jud — hit's  the  law.  Bruce  Patter- 
son's been  powerful  good  to  me  always." 

"Ho,  he  has,  has  he?"  her  words  producing 
the  opposite  effect  from  what  she  had  cal- 
culated. "It's  a  double  game  he's  a-playin', 
is  it  ?"  heedless  of  her  remonstrances.  "  Well, 
Zulemmy,  you  remember  I've  said  I'd  per- 
tect  you,  and  I  will.  Yes,  sir,  I'll  do  it. 
Judson  Tyree  was  as  good  a  friend  as  a  man 
ever  had,  and  I'll  not  stand  by  and  watch 
no  such  contrivances  as  these.  You  ain't 
got  nary  men  kin  to  look  after  you,  and  I'll 
do  it.  That  damned  Patterson  better  get 
away  from  here  and  stay  away  or  he  might 
git  hurt,  and  git  hurt  bad.  ' 

136 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"Oh,  yo'  go  home,  Bill,"  urged  Zulemmy, 
who  knew  that  contradicting  a  drunken 
man  was  worse  than  useless.  "Go  'long 
home  an'  git  to  bed.  Maybe  yo'  better 
leave  that  gun  here — I  might  want  hit  some 
day  when  yo'  wasn't  round." 

The  young  man  looked  stupidly  from  the 
revolver  to  the  woman;  he  stretched  out  his 
hand  to  take  the  weapon  and  then  drew  it 
back  empty. 

"That's  right,"  he  said  undecidedly,  "I'd 
better  leave  it  here  with  you.  I  kin  git  it 
when  I  want  it,  I  reckon.  Good  night, 
Zulemmy.  Say,  ain't  you  a-goin'  to  kiss 
a  fellow  good-night?"  and  he  laid  a  hand 
on  one  of  her  shoulders. 

Zulemmy  drew  back.  With  all  her  native 
coquetry  and  love  of  men's  admiration,  she 
had  a  certain  dim  sense  of  the  proprieties, 
and,  besides,  she  disliked  contact  with  a 
man  who  smelled  of  liquor. 

"No,  sir,"  she  said  sharply.  "I  don't 
kiss  such  as  yo'.  Yo'  go  'long  out-a  here 
as  quick  as  yo'  kin,"  and  her  hand  stole  out 
towards  the  revolver. 

Bill's  eyes  blazed  again.  "Such  as  me? 
I  ain't  good  enough  fer  you  to  kiss," 
he  said  fiercely.  ''You  keep  your  kisses 

137 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

for  men  like  Bruce  Patterson;  for  the  man 
that's  got  Jud  penitentured,  and  that's  a-tryin* 
to  railroad  him  to  Kingdom  Come.  I  see 
now!  He's  brought  you  out  here  so's  't  he 
can  sneak  over  from  the  mine  when  the 
notion  takes  him.  But  this  is  my  house 
you're  in!  And  I  ain't  a-goin*  to  have  no 
such  contrivin'  as  that  goin'  on  round  here. 
I've  a  good  mind  to  set  you  out  in  the  road 
right  now,"  becoming  savage  at  the  disdain- 
ful smile  with  which  she  listened  to  his  raving. 

"Oh,  come  now,  Bill!"  coaxed  the  alarmed 
woman,  laying  her  hand  on  his  sleeve  and 
giving  him  a  little  push  in  the  direction  of 
the  door  while  she  smiled  into  the  gleaming 
eyes  that  threatened  her.  "Yo'  know  yo're 
on'y  a-foggin*.  Yo'  go  home  an'  git  some 
sleep — yo  re  a-needin'  hit  powerful  bad.  Of 
course  I  ain't  aimin*  to — to  kiss  yo' — yit" 
and  a  last  apparently  playful  shove  sent 
the  bewildered  man  reefing  unsteadily  out 
of  the  door  and  down  the  slope. 

When  Bill  Treadway  began  to  drink,  his 
thirst  for  liquor  was  not  easily  Quenched. 
He  was  one  of  the  periodical  drinkers  who 
can  abstain  from  liquor  for  weeks  and  then 
suddenly  yield  to  the  onslaught  of  a  craving 
that  it  took  weeks  to  appease.  During  his 

138 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

drinking  times  he  was  apt  to  brood  over  some 
one  subject,  real  or  fancied;  the  harder  and 
deeper  he  drank,  the  more  vivid  his  illusions 
became. 

On  the  day  succeeding  his  visit  to  Mrs. 
Tyree,  the  men  at  the  Carroll  saw-mill  found 
their  foreman  surly  and  irritable,  his  mind 
and  conversation  colored  by  his  drunken 
imaginings,  his  manner  being  widely  at  vari- 
ance with  that  of  the  capable  young  giant  on 
whom  his  employer  placed  much  responsi- 
bility, and  who  held  the  goodwill  of  all  under 
his  charge.  David  Carroll,  who  happened 
to  pass  through  the  mill  in  the  early  afternoon, 
noticed  signs  of  anxiety  in  the  faces  of  some 
of  the  older  men,  and  later  on,  from  his 
office  window,  he  saw  his  foreman  start  down 
the  road  that  led  to  the  village,  though  it 
lacked  more  than  an  hour  of  the  time  for  the 
quitting  whistle  to  blow.  David  was  worried, 
for,  even  in  his  drinking  periods,  Bill  had  sel- 
dom, if  ever,  deserted  his  post,  but  had 
managed  to  keep  his  brain  sufficiently  clear 
to  enable  him  to  perform  most  of  his  ordinary 
duties,  although  those  who  watched  him 
were  at  times  cold  with  fear  as  he  lurched 
about  between  the  hungry  saws  and  the 
rapidly  revolving  bands  and  belts. 

139 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

After  seeing  the  tall  figure  turn  a  bend  in 
the  road,  Mr.  Carroll  sat  lost  in  dismay  for 
a  time,  then  he  rose  and  closed  his  desk, 
picked  up  his  hat  and  followed.  As  he  neared 
the  few  shabby  stores  and  saloons  that  make 
up  the  business  district  of  Hollywood,  he  saw 
Bill  in  a  group  of  men  who  were  lounging 
outside  of  one  of  the  most  disreputable  of 
the  drinking  resorts,  and  when  he  came 
within  hearing  distance,  it  was  the  voice  of 
his  truant  foreman,  that,  raised  to  an  un- 
natural pitch,  was  claiming  the  attention 
of  the  others. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Bill  was  saying  with  the  cun- 
ning leer  of  a  distracted  mind,  "he's  a  sly 
fox,  is  Bruce  Patterson,  an'  he  reckons  they 
learned  him  some  tricks  up  to  that  Yankee 
college  of  his  that  none  of  us  pore  white 
trash  down  this-a-way  can  see  through.  But 
I've  been  outside  some  myself,  an  I  'low 
I  can  head  him  off  yet  when  I  git  good  and 
ready." 

"  Oh,  yo'  shet  up,  Billy,"  said  one  of  the 
other  men  lazily  as  David  drew  near.  "  Thet 
thar's  plumb  foolishness  yo're  a-talkin'.  Bruce 
Patterson  may  ha'  made  a  mistake  'bout 
this  Tyree  verdic',  but  he's  a  good-meanin' 
man  all  right  Yo'  git  them  liquor  dreams 

140 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

outen    yore    head,    or   yo'll    be   gittin'    into 
trouble. 

"I  tell  you  it's  truth— Bible  truth.  Why, 
what  you-all  a-reckonin'  made  him  so  keen 
to  act  on  that  jury?  Jedge  would  have  let 
him  off  easy  enough.  An'  they  brung  in 
the  first  verdict  of  guilty  that's  been  brought 
in  in  ary  trial  for  killin'  down  this-a-way 
since  I  can  remember.  You-all  'lowin*  'twas 
them  other  'leven  jurors  that  fetched  it  in?" 
David,  who  had  now  reached  the  group,  here 
stepped  forward  and  took  Bill  by  the  arm. 

Come  with  me,  won't  you,  Treadway?" 
he  asked  with  composure.  "I  want  your 
advice  about  something." 

^Bill  rose  and  steadied  himself  against  the 
side  of  the  building,  but  he  shook  his  head 
with  *ipsy  solemnity. 

"I  ain't  a-goin'  back  to  your  mill,  Dave 
Carroll,  if  that's  what  yo're  a-wantin'.  I 
'low  you'll  have  to  git  along  without  me 
fer  awhile;  I  got  to  tend  to  somethin'  else." 

David  wasted  no  words,  but,  stepping  into 
the  saloon,  spoke  to  the  bar-tender,  who  in 
reality  was  the  proprietor  of  the  place. 

"Don't  sell  Treadway  any  more  liquor 
if  you  can  avoid  it,  Newnam,"  he  said  with 
earnestness.  "  He  has  some  ridiculous  notion 

141 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

in  that  head  of  his — you  know  how  it  is  with 
him  always  when  he  is  drinking — and  we  must 
try  to  sober  him  up  and  get  it  out." 

"I'd  sure  like  to  oblige  yo',  Mr.  Carroll," 
the  saloon-keeper  replied  with  sincerity,  for 
David  was  respected  and  liked  by  all  classes 
of  men,  even  those  who  laughed  at  his  philan- 
thropic schemes,  "but  yo'  know  well  as  me  't 
ain't  always  safe  not  to  hand  Bill  Treadway 
ary  thing  he  asks  for.  But  I'll  do  the  best 
I  kin,"  doubtfully.  "Thet  Tyree  verdic' 
has  kind-a  upsot  things  round  here,"  ten- 
tatively. "Seems  to  me  like  'cause  one 
man's  been  killed  thar  ain't  much  good  in 
killin'  another.  I  ain't  got  no  use  fer  the 
feuds,  either." 

David  slipped  out  and  made  one  more 
effort  with  Bill  himself.  He  knew  that  the 
result  of  the  Tyree  trial  had  been  a  surprise 
to  all  the  county  and  that  its  justice  was 
questioned,  and  he  feared  that  Bill's  mut- 
terings,  even  though  inspired  by  a  whiskey- 
inflamed  brain,  might  lead  to  further  hot 
debate  among  the  less  thoughtful  men  of 
the  community,  that  would,  perhaps,  end 
in  a  general  resentment  of  Bruce's  action. 
He  knew  that  few  would  agree  with  him  in 
his  belief  as  to  the  underlying  cause  of  Bill 

142 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Treadway's  attitude  towards  Bruce.  The 
young  ex-soldier  was,  possibly,  the  one  man 
born  in  that  sequestered  region  who  had 
learned  to  chafe  at  the  bondage  of  circum- 
stance. The  native  of  the  Kentucky  moun- 
tains wrho  has  never  wandered  beyond  the 
shadow  cast  by  his  own  home  peak,  is  the 
embodiment  of  true  democracy.  In  his  eyes 
all  men  are  equal; — some  more  blessed  by 
an  abundance  of  material  possession,  as 
others  have  attained  to  greater  bodily  strength 
and  stature,  and  still  others  to  more  perfect 
skill  in  the  use  of  the  shot-gun — but  the 
intrinsic  value  of  each  son  of  Adam  is  to  them 
the  same. 

It  is  only  on  the  few — those  whom  one 
impulse  or  another  has  carried  across  the 
rocky  walls  that  enclose  these  highlands — who 
have  beheld  the  world  and  the  glory  thereof 
— that  a  doubt  of  the  real  equality  of  the 
race  acts  like  a  goad ;  either  prodding  awakened 
ambition  to  climb  to  summits  rarely  scaled, 
or  irritating  less  noble  qualities  to  a  sulky 
rebellion  against  circumscribing  conditions. 

David's  interpretation  of  his  foreman's 
dislike  for  Bruce  was  that  Bill  resented 
his  exclusion  from  the  jauntings  and  junket- 
ings of  wrhich  the  Patterson  homestead  had 

143 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

for  weeks  been  the  headquarters,  and  that 
under  cover  of  his  disagreement  with  the 
verdict,  he  wished  to  avenge  what  he  con- 
sidered as  personal  affronts. 

"Come  up  and  have  supper  with  me  then, 
Tread  way,"  David  urged,  as  he  repassed 
the  sodden  figure  on  his  way  to  the  street. 
"  It  will  not  take  any  more  time  to  eat  a  meal 
in  one  place  than  another,  and  I  can  talk 
to  you  there.  Come  on!  If  this  happens 
to  be  Jinny's  day  out,  Aunt  Nora  will  get  up 
something  for  us." 

"Go  on,  Bill,"  said  some  of  the  loafing 
men,  laughing  at  David's  concluding  words 
as  at  a  long-relished  joke,  but  Bill  sat  still 
and  continued  to  shake  his  head  solemnly. 

"Can't  go  this  evenin',  Carroll,"  he  re- 
iterated. "  Got  some  other  things  to  'tend  to." 

David  walked  on  slowly,  but  he  was  so 
worried  that  when  his  home  was  reached, 
the  dainty  meal  served  him  failed  to  receive 
its  meed  of  attention,  and  his  thoughts  ran 
so  far  from  his  immediate  environment 
that  his  habitual  reticence  became  absolute 
speechlessness.  Ordinarily  Mrs.  Pritchett's 
tongue  was  capable  of  sustaining  both  sides 
of  a  conversation,  but  tonight  she  also  sat 
mute,  a  phenomenon  on  which  her  nephew 

144 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

finally  made  comment. 

"  Why  are  you  so  quiet  this  evening,  Aunt 
Nora?"  he  asked.  ''Don't  you  feel  well?" 

"Perfectly  well,"  was  her  composed  re- 
joinder," but  I  feel  to  practice  the  Golden  Rule. 
You  know  there  are  three  versions  of  it. 
When  I  went  to  Sabbath  school  they  learned 
us  to  say  'Do  as  you  would  be  done  by'; 
in  China,  those  heathen  claim  it  is  *  Do  not 
do  to  others  what  you  would  not  have  others 
do  to  you';  and  there  is,  or  ought  to  be, 
another  version, — 'Do  to  others  as  you  see 
them  do  to  others.'  If  we  all  had  courage 
to  act  on  that  last  rule,  I  guess  the  millenium 
would  come  along  a  little  faster.  Lots  of 
folks  are  surly,  or  peevish,  or  naggy  that 
don't  suspicion  they  are  so — or  don't  know 
that  other  folks  see  that  they  are  so.  Now, 
you — I  wonder  if  you  realize  how  close- 
mouthed  you  are  at  times  ?" 

"I  believe  Robert  Burns  said  something 
like  that  once,  didn't  he?"  suggested  the 
young  man  with  a  smile,  ignoring  the  personal 
application  of  his  aunt's  remark. 

'  Well,  if  he  did,  it's  more  decent  than  any 
of  his  sayings  I  ever  come  across,  though  I 
can't  say  I've  read  much  of  what  he  wrote, 
either.  When  I  was  a  young  girl,  I  picked 

145 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

up  a  volume  of  his  poems  once,  and  the  first 
thing  my  eye  fell  on  was  some  lines  headed 
*  To  a '  ...  a  ...  certain  insect  .  .  .  *  on  a 
lady's  bonnet  in  church,' — and  thinks  I, 
if  thafs  Burns's  poetry  I'd  like  to  know  what 
his  prose  would  be  like!  For  many  a  Sunday 
after,  I  used  to  sit  in  church  and  feel  all  creepy, 
imagining  I  could  see  ....  certain  insects 
....  crawling  round  on  the  women's  hats. 
Poetry!" 

Her  nephew  laughed,  and  after  a  time  said: 
"I  tried  to  bring  a  guest  to  help  eat  your 
short-cake,  Aunt  Nora — Bill  Tread  way — but 
I  could  not  induce  him  to  come.  He  is  off 
on  another  drunk,  and,  as  usual,  has  some 
wild  notion  in  his  head  that  he  keeps  harping 
on,"  and  he  related  what  he  had  overheard. 
"More  likely  Zulemmy's  been  rolling  her 
eyes  up  at  him,  and  asking  for  his  sympathy. 
Zulemmy  likes  the  sympathy  of  good-looking 
men.  Probably  that's  all  that  ails  Bill,  and 
if  we  sober  him  up  he'll  forget  it.  I  don't 
know  as  it  would  do  any  harm  to  see  Zulemmy 
and  caution  her  to  be  careful  how  she  talks, ' 
she  continued  as  David's  face  still  expressed 
worriment.  "She  ain't  a  girl  that's  given 
to  much  speech — but  she's  got  the  trick 
of  making  her  wants  known  without  saying 

146 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

anything,  and  she  may  have  some  wrong 
notion  about  the  verdict.  Letishy  Patterson 
has!" 

"I  will  try  to  see  her,"  David  answered. 
"  Don't  you  want  to  ride  out  there  with  me  some 
evening  ?" 

"  And  run  the  risk  of  pitching  headforemost 
down  the  ravine  to  learn  what  mischief 
Zulemmy  Tyree  is  mixed  up  in  now?  No, 
thank  you!  Go  tomorrow  night,  David. 
You  can  ride  out  on  horseback  and  you 
could  call  at  the  Pattersons'  on  your  way 
back  and  see  how  things  are  there." 

"Bruce  is  away  from  home  at  present, 
I  understand." 

"  Well,  there's  other  members  of  that  family 
besides  Bruce.  There's  Madame  Letishy 
Phelps  Patterson,  and  there's  Miss  Patterson, 
—though  she  won't  be  there  a  great  sight 
longer  if  some  of  those  Blue  Grass  beaux 
of  hers  have  their  say-so.  Folks  are  telling 
about  a  queer  state  of  affairs  up  at  that 
place,  David.  They  say  the  New  England 
lady  has  set  herself  to  overturn  and  knock 
out  the  proceedings  of  a  Kentucky  court 
of  law, — that  Letishy  makes  no  bones  of 
telling  her  husband  he  was  wrong  in  that 
verdict — that  he'll  be  a  murderer  if  he  lets 

147 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  law  take  its  course  in  the  Tyree  case — 
and  that  he  has  got  to  crawfish  and  work 
to  free  Tyree.  Ain't  that  a  peck  of  half 
bushels  for  you?  Bruce  Patterson!"  She 
sniffed  contemptuously. 

"Of  course,  as  she  thinks,  there  may  be 
evidence  that  would  clear  Tyree,"  suggested 
David.  "  A  great  many  believe  him  innocent." 

"Believe  him  innocent  because  he  has 
been  proven  guilty,"  said  Mrs.  Pritchett, 
walking  impatiently  to  the  window.  "I've 
heard  of  that  kind  of  hysterical  belief  before." 
Then,  as  David  rose,  she  turned  upon  him 
and  said  impressively : 

"  David,  if  ever  you  should  come  to  knuckle 
under  to  your  wife  like  that,  I'll  take  my 
slipper  to  you,"  and  she  thrust  forth  a  foot 
of  such  proportions  that  it  was  easy  to  infer 
that  the  threatened  penalty  would  involve 
no  trifling  bodily  discomfort. 


148 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  typical  southern  girl  is  pretty,  fond 
of  admiration,  a  votary  of  pleasure  and  an 
adept  in  the  wiles  that  disturb  masculine 
equanimity;  the  typical  southern  belle  sur- 
passes her  sisters  only  in  the  degree  to  which 
she  is  possessed  of  all  these  traits.  Probably 
none  of  Columbia's  daughters  receive  such 
homage  as  she,  for  the  typical  southern 
man,  old  or  young,  is  susceptible  to  feminine 
charms,  and  has  still  in  his  blood  the  element 
of  gallantry  that  characterized  his  ardent 
forbears. 

To  say  that  a  girl  as  pretty  and  unspoiled 
as  Mary  Joyce  Patterson  enjoyed  the  triumphs 
of  her  first  winter  of  belledom  would  be  to 
present  her  state  of  mind  too  mildly.  Unlike 
her  chums  from  homes  in  the  more  settled 
parts  of  the  state,  she  had  tasted  few  of  the 
delights  of  social  success  during  her  school- 
days, for  her  vacations  were  always  spent 
in  her  Hollywood  home,  where  the  frolics 
of  the  neighborhood  were  "apple  parin's," 
"  bean-stringin's, "  and  the  like  combinations 
of  the  domestic  and  the  frivolous,  and  where 

149 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

a  moonlight  ride  up  the  river  on  the  "  big  ferry  " 
was  a  wild  dissipation  to  be  thereafter  referred 
to  with  bated  breath. 

Joyce  had  not  been  unhappy  in  her  secluded 
girlhood,  for  she  was  fond  of  her  mountain 
home,  she  adored  her  uncle  and  cousin, 
she  enjoyed  the  innocent  vagaries  of  Mrs. 
Pritchett,  and  she  cared  more  for  David 
Carroll  than  she  had  ever  owned  to  herself. 
At  the  time  of  her  cousin  Bruce's  marriage 
in  the  North,  the  maiden  suffered  some 
natural  pangs  of  jealousy  and  disappointment 
at  the  tidings  that  another  was  to  be  installed 
as  mistress  of  the  Patterson  home,  an  honor 
she  had  grown  to  look  upon  as  hers  by  right 
of  possession.  During  the  days  when  the 
two  were  forming  acquaintance  with  each 
other,  Letitia  had  exercised  upon  this  enthu- 
siastic girl  relative,  as  she  did  upon  any 
stranger  that  held  her  interest,  all  tne  super- 
ficial charm  of  her  individuality  that  on 
prolonged  companionship  was  apt  to  lose 
its  potency.  During  her  last  months  as  a 
resident  pupil  in  the  old  seminary  that  had 
been  selected  for  her  alma  mater,  it  was 
"Cousin  Letitia"  that  Joyce  quoted  to  her 
mates  ad  nauseam,  and  the  girl  had  looked 
forward  to  residence  in  the  old  home,  after 

150 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

she  should  have  bidden  a  final  farewell  to 
her  life  as  student,  with  the  liveliest  antici- 
pations. 

Before  the  frost  had  nipped  the  leaves  into 
vivid  color,  however,  her  hazel  eyes  had 
more  than  once  been  veiled  behind  their 
long  lashes,  to  conceal  the  flashes  of  anger 
kindled  in  them  by  the  northern  bride's 
ungracious  manner  towards  her  husband. 
Joyce  had  all  her  days  looked  up  to  her 
cousin  Bruce  as  the  personification  of  an 
ideal  manhood;  she  had  respected  the  up- 
rightness of  his  character,  esteemed  his  mental 
ability,  and  idolized  his  every  attribute.  To 
see  him  weakly  submit  to  an  unjustifiable 
tyranny  was  like  beholding  a  sculptured  god 
stoop  from  his  pedestal  at  the  caprice  of  an 
inferior  creature. 

It  is  always  harrowing  to  hear  the  object 
of  one's  highest  adoration  belittled,  and  this 
painful  experience,  combined  with  her  woman- 
like rebellion  against  David  Carroll's  un- 
warranted appropriation  of  herself,  sent  the 
young  girl  away  to  the  gaieties  to  which  she 
had  been  bidden  for  her  first  season  of  emanci- 
pation from  books,  feverishly  eager  to  find 
a  new  channel  into  which  her  perturbed 
thoughts  might  turn. 

151 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

The  weeks  after  her  return  to  Hollywood 
from  a  prolonged  series  of  festivities  in  which 
she  had  shone  paramount,  were  but  repetitions 
of  her  triumphs  in  the  ball-room  amid  the 
calm  of  the  mountains.  She  was  young, 
high  spirited,  and  a  daughter  of  Eve,  and  she 
was  intoxicated  by  the  homage  paid  her 
beauty,  and  smiled  upon  the  bold  bids  for 
her  favor.  But,  while  she  kept  her  place, 
outwardly  happy  and  serene  in  the  circle 
of  gay  butterflies  that  had  flown  after  her, 
she  often  had  to  mask  her  indignation  at 
the  undignified  role  assigned  to  her  Cousin 
Bruce  in  the  home  where  his  will  should 
have  been  supreme,  and  to  conceal  under  a 
cloak  of  indifference  her  hurt  surprise  at 
David  Carroll's  cold  aloofness. 

As  the  burning  noons  of  midsummer 
approached,  the  guests  that  had  with  such 
fervor  taken  advantage  of  the  hospitality 
of  the  mountains  all  betook  themselves  to 
the  sea-shore,  or  to  the  more  accessible 
shades  of  nearby  "Springs,"  and  at  the  time 
the  Tyree  case  was  being  tried,  while  Bruce 
was  acting  as  juryman,  the  space  between 
the  two  ladies  who  faced  each  other  from 
opposite  sides  of  the  Patterson  dining-table 
was  only  occupied  occasionally  by  the  most 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

persistent  of  the  suitors. 

Joyce  felt  a  certain  sense  of  relief  at  this 
absence  of  her  cousin  from  his  home,  though 
she  missed  the  ready  sympathy  of  his  life-long 
comradeship,  but  Letitia  was  more — endurable 
—when  apart  from  her  husband  and  not 
engrossed  in  detecting  and  criticising  his  every 
error.  On  the  other  hand,  Letitia,  who, 
in  her  selfish  way,  loved  her  husband,  was 
depressed  by  his  absence  and  jealous  of  this 
unforeseen  claim  upon  him  to  which  he  had 
so  needlessly  acceded. 

The  advent  of  Mrs.  Tyree  and  her  ragged 
children  was  a  godsend  to  the  two  forced  into 
so  intimate  and  uncomfortable  a  companion- 
ship, as  it  supplied  a  common  interest  and 
occupation.  Letitia,  who  each  day  grew  more 
indignant  at  Bruce's  continued  exile,  spent 
hours  in  talking  with  Zulemmy,  and  seized 
at  the  vague  admissions  of  the  chameleon- 
like  woman  as  the  basis  for  her  decision 
regarding  the  murder,  and  lost  no  time  in 
announcing  that  in  her  opinion  the  jury  had 
no  other  alternative  than  to  acquit  Tyree. 
She  was  sure  that  with  Bruce  as  one  of  their 
number,  the  twelve  men  would  not  dare 
follow  the  precedent  long  since  established 
in  that  section  in  trials  for  a  like  crime, 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

and  be  discharged  for  a  claimed  disagreement. 

The  consequence  of  the  adverse  verdict 
on  the  atmosphere  of  the  Patterson  home- 
stead, as  told,  was  to  augment  the  current 
of  friction  and  unrest  with  which  it  was 
already  charged,  and  poor  Miss  Ma'y  Joyce, 
fretted  by  the  needless  complications  with 
which  her  cousin's  wrife  burdened  the  most 
trivial  act,  and  more  than  all  by  Bruce's 
unmanly  efforts  to  ingratiate  himself  in  the 
favor  of  the  woman  whose  constant  endeavor 
was  to  impress  upon  him  the  fallibility  of  his 
judgment,  often  longed  for  some  spot  to  which 
she  could  flee  for  a  respite  from  the  strain 
of  existing  conditions. 

One  morning,  after  Bruce,  goaded  by  his 
wife's  incessant  urgence,  had  set  forth  to 
thoroughly  investigate  the  unpromising  clews 
furnished  by  Zulemmy's  desultory  remarks, 
clews  that  Letitia  insisted  would  prove  the 
innocence  of  the  man  now  condemned  to  die, 
Joyce  felt  so  ill  at  ease  that  she  would  gladly 
have  welcomed  the  most  shallow-pated  of  all 
her  adorers  as  a  diversion  from  the  stress  of 
the  one  topic  by  which  all  minds  in  the 
vicinity  were  now  disturbed  and  haunted, 
when,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  bethought  her 
of  the  message  that  Baity  Treadway  had 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

sent  her.  She  impulsively  sprang  to  her 
feet,  ordered  her  horse  saddled,  and,  running 
to  her  room,  began  to  rummage  through  her 
bags  and  boxes  for  such  of  her  unworn 
furbelows  as  could  suitably  be  added  to  the 
simple  trousseau  of  a  mountain  bride.  Once 
mounted,  she  started  her  horse  up  the  steep, 
winding  road,  with  a  sensation  of  pleased 
expectancy  that  she  did  not  try  to  fathom. 
The  beauty  of  the  morning,  the  long  vista 
of  cool  green  that  opened  before  her,  the 
cheery  caroling  of  the  birds,  the  pungent 
odors  that  the  undergrowth,  pressed  by  the 
horse's  feet,  gave  forth,  all  combined  to  revive 
her  weary  spirits,  and  it  was  with  the  sweet 
jubilance  of  care-free  youth  that  she  called 
a  greeting  to  the  snowy-haired  patriarch, 
Grandpap  Treadway,  who  sat  beneath  the 
very  trees  he  had  set  out  during  his  honey- 
moon,— more  than  six  decades  before. 

The  delight  of  the  old  man  when  he  recog- 
nized his  charming  visitor,  who  came  down 
the  path  from  the  bars,  leading  her  horse, 
was  touching.  His  bearing  had  in  it  the 
loving  reverence  of  a  loyal  old  courtier  for 
a  young  queen,  and  it  was  only  when  Baity, 
who  had  run  out  at  his  summons,  and  who 
was  as  delighted  as  her  grandfather  at  the 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

coming  of  her  friend,  insisted  that  it  was  too 
sunny  out-of-doors  and  more  comfortable 
under  the  roof,  that  he  ceased  his  reminiscent 
tales  of  Joyce's  Uncle  Hiram,  and  of  her 
mother,  whom  he  said  he  was  proud  to  have 
seen  twice  during  her  visit  to  the  Patterson 
home,  in  the  days  immediately  following 
her  marriage  to  a  younger  son  of  that  family. 
In  Balty's  room, — shared  at  night  by  two 
brothers  and  one  sister — the  two  girls  confided, 
exhibited,  admired,  giggled  and  chattered, 
as  in  the  days  when  they  had  attended  a 
private  school  at  Winchester.  Baity,  with 
many  blushes,  at  length  consented  to  slip 
into  the  simple  white  gown,  already  completed 
and  laid  by,  that  was  to  be  worn  on  her  wed- 
ding day,  and  as  she  stood  arrayed  in  its  soft 
folds,  tall  and  stately,  with  that  illusive 
quality  termed  style  dignifying  her  pose, 

L  v  •/  O  v  ^j  JL 

Joyce  felt  that  among  all  her  more  recently 
made  friends,  there  was  not  one  with  whom 
this  maid  of  the  mountains  need  fear  com- 
parison. The  laces  and  chiffons  that  she 
had  selected  with  some  misgiving  as  to  their 
fitness,  seemed  none  too  fine  for  the  adornment 
of  this  bonnie  lass,  whose  clear  eyes  clouded 
with  grateful  tears  as  she  attempted  to  stam- 
mer her  thanks  for  the  gifts. 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

Time  fled  with  such  rapidity  that  both 
of  the  girls  were  astonished  when  they  were 
called  to  the  noonday  meal,  at  which  Joyce, 
with  thrills  of  guilty  delight,  followed  some 
of  the  local  customs  in  preparing  her  food. 
She  raised  the  upper  crust  of  a  generous 
slice  of  pie,  spread  sourwood  honey  over  the 
apple  filling,  and  then  patted  the  pastry 
into  place  again;  she  cut  a  raw  onion  into 
her  dish  of  long  pod  beans,  that  had  been 
boiled  with  chunks  of  salt  pork  for  hours, 
and  she  managed  to  drink  a  glass  of  corn 
beer,  a  beverage  she  had  previously  abhorred, 
but  which,  as  a  feature  of  the  old  life  so  rapidly 
passing  away,  was  more  easily  swallowed. 
Old  Gran'pap  and  Balty's  mother,  a  middle- 
aged  matron,  whose  speech  was  rendered 
indistinct  by  the  fact  that  the  front  of  her 
upper  jaw  was  destitute  of  teeth,  vied  with 
each  other  in  pressing  the  viands  upon  their 
guest,  until  she  vowed  that  not  one  other 
bite  could  she  take. 

After  the  district  school,  some  half  mile 
up  the  road,  "let  out,"  the  youngsters  belong- 
ing to  those  offshoots  of  the  family  tree  that 
had  taken  root  within  walking  distance, 
crowded  in  to  see  the  fascinating  visitor, 
whose  stock  of  entrancing  "tales"  lasted 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

until  the  sun  dropped  behind  the  peaks 
to  the  west,  when  they  invited  her  to  join 
them  in  the  local  games  that  are  as  novel 
to  the  outside  world  as  are  many  of  the  habits 
of  speech  and  life  that  are  practiced  in  this 
isolated  locality.  When  "  Skip-t-m-loo "  had 
stolen  Joyce  for  his  partner  so  often  that  she 
was  giddy  from  whirling,  she  begged  for  a 
less  violent  amusement. 

"Play  'Wonder  where  Maria's  gone?' 
children,"  suggested  Gran'pap,  who,  from 
his  seat  in  the  dog-trot,  was  enjoying  the 
romp  as  heartily  as  the  smallest  toddler. 
"I  'low  Mary  Joyce  ain't  played  that  game 
for  a  powerful  spell." 

The  boys  chose  partners,  the  shyest  and 
most  awkward  choosing  Joyce,  and  two  lines, 
one  all  boys  and  the  other  all  girls,  were 
formed  and  faced  each  other,  while  all  sang: 

M  ft     Moamto > - 


Wonder  where  Maria's  gone?  Wonder  where  Maria's  gone? 


Wonder  where  Maria's  gone?    So  ear-rye    in  the   morning. 

During  the  singing,  the  girl  at  the  head 
crosses  over  and  creeps  quietly  down  behind 
the  boys,  her  partner  crossing  in  his  turn 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

and  pretending  to  search  for  her  back  of  the 
line  of  girls  while  the  second  verse  is  sung : 

' '  'Spec'  she's  gone  to  seek  her  love — 
'Spec'  she's  gone  to  seek  her  love, 
'Spec'  she's  gone  to  seek  her  love, 
So  eaxlye  in  the  morning." 

At  the  beginning  of  the  third  verse  they  sang, 

"  Yander  she  comes!     How-dye  do!  " 

the  partners  meeting  at  the  foot  of  the  two 
lines  and  shaking  each  other's  hand  with 
great  solemnity. 

The  fourth  verse  runs, — 

"  Take  a  sweet  kiss  and  pass  right  through," 

but  the  embrace  is  ordinarily  omitted,  the 
mountaineers  being  an  undemonstrative  folk, 
who  regard  a  kiss  as  something  too  sacred  to 
be  made  part  of  a  frolic;  so  Maria  and  her 
partner  simply  walk  back  to  their  original 
places.  During  the  last  verse: 

"Right  hand  first  an'  then  the  left, 
So  earlye  in  the  morning:" 

the  same  couple  come  down  the  lines  swinging 
alternately  with  the  other  boys  and  girls  and 
with  each  other,  much  as  in  a  Virginia  Reel. 

In  fact  the  mountain   "games"   are   most 
of  them  old-fashioned  dances,  but  the  religious 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

sentiment  being  strongly  against  dancing, 
the  distinction  has  been  made  that  a  "  dance  * 
requires  an  instrumental  accompaniment, 
while  the  music  for  the  "games"  is  sung. 

When  the  time  came  for  Joyce  and  her 
partner  to  execute  the  proper  evolutions, 
the  lad  had  passed  from  the  superlative 
bashfulness  that  is  as  painful  as  a  disease 
to  a  counterfeit  boldness,  and  during  the 
singing  of  the  fourth  verse,  before  any  one 
could  guess  his  intention,  he  had  kissed  the 
pink  cheek  nearest  him  with  a  resounding 
smack,  leaving  the  girl  herself  and  all  of  his 
kin  helpless  with  astonishment  and  laughter. 
Gran'pap  was  specially  edified  by  this  audacity 
on  the  part  of  his  great-grandson,  and  laughed 
and  applauded  until  he  was  exhausted. 

"Wen-ell!  So  now,  sonny!"  he  exclaimed. 
"You  favor  ol'  Gran'pap  when  he  was  young 
more  'an  in  looks.  Up  an'  bussed  Mary 
Joyce  Patterson  as  cool  as  a  cowcumber! ' 
and  he  crowed  and  chuckled  to  himself 
after  he  was  too  weak  and  hoarse  for  speech. 

The  boy,  like  many  another  of  his  kind, 
was  really  appalled  by  his  own  temerity,  but 
as  Joyce  only  laughed  with  the  others,  his 
flaming  cheeks  soon  cooled,  and  he  went 
strutting  about  with  all  the  swagger  of  a 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

half -grown  Lothario.  At  supper  time,  when 
the  men  of  the  different  families  assembled 
"to  Gran'pap's"  in  obedience  to  messages 
sent  them  by  their  respective  wives,  the  tale 
was  told  over  and  over  again,  and  both  the 
lad  and  Joyce  were  made  targets  for  a  running 
fire  of  jokes.  So  good-natured  was  this 
teasing,  however,  that  Joyce  joked  with  the 
rest  and  took  it  as  part  of  the  day's  fun. 
All  the  cares  that  a  few  hours  earlier  had 
weighed  so  heavily  upon  her  had  vanished 
under  the  influence  of  this  perfect  good- 
fellowship  and  simple  affection,  and  she 
became  as  joyous  and  light  of  heart  as  of  old. 

As  the  ever  enlarging  assembly  sat  about 
on  the  edges  of  the  dog-trot,  on  the  stairs, 
anywhere  that  offered  space,  eating  water- 
melon and  such  of  the  more  substantial 
refreshments  as  could  be  foraged  from  the 
table,  Bill  Treadway  appeared  coming  down 
the  slope  of  the  farm.  The  story  of  his 
young  cousin's  prowess  was  shouted  to  him 
by  a  dozen  childish  voices  while  he  made 
his  way  up  to  the  table  and  spoke  to  the  guest 
of  honor. 

"Well,  now,  Will- John,"  he  said,  when 
greetings  were  over,  "I  always  said  they  done 
right  to  name  you  after  me.  That's  exactly 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

what  I'd  have  done  myself  if  I'd  been  lucky 
enough  to  stand  in  your  shoes,"  with  a  bold 
glance  at  Joyce.  "As  the  rest  of  you  folks 
have  been  havin'  your  fun  all  evenin',  reckon  I 
got  to  get  what's  a-comin'  to  me  now,"  and 
he  obliged  one  of  the  elder  women,  who  sat 
in  the  chair  next  to  Joyce  at  the  table,  to  give 
up  her  place  to  him.  Joyce  could  catch  the 
fumes  of  liquor  as  the  young  man  leaned 
over  her,  but  he  was  not  badly  intoxicated, 
and  the  others  present  showed  no  fear  nor 
anxiety,  so  she  did  not  permit  herself  to  be 
annoyed  by  the  coming  of  this  black  sheep 
of  the  Tread  way  flock. 

"Joyce  is  a-goin'  to  be  my  bridesmaid, 
Bill,"  said  Baity,  when  she  brought  her 
uncle  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"An  hit's  a-goin'  to  be  in  the  school-house 
— Joyce  said  so,  an'  we're  a-goin'  to  fix  hit 
up  all  pretty  with  branches  an'  posies, — an' 
Miss  Sue  Belle  Adams  is  a-comin'  out  to  play 
the  music  for  Baity  an'  Jim  to  march  to,  ' 
chorused  the  youngsters  wild  with  excitement 
and  wonder  over  this  prospective  festivity. 

''You   young   ones   clear   out,"   said   Bill. 

'You'd  ought  to  ask  me  to  stand  up  with 

Miss  Patterson,   Baity,"  stretching  one   arm 

across  the  back  of   Joyce's  chair.     "How's 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

that,  Gran'pap?"  he  shouted  to  the  old 
gentleman  who  sat  smiling  and  nodding  at 
the  head  of  the  table.  "I'd  ought  to  be  best 
man  at  Balty's  weddin',  hadn't  I  ?" 

"No  one  need  stand  with  me,"  said  Joyce, 
shrinking  from  the  flushed  face  and  gleaming 
eyes  so  near  her.  "At  all  the  weddings  now 
they  have  a  maid  of  honor  who  walks  alone. 
I'll  be  your  maid  of  honor,  Baity." 

"  Aw,  come  now,"  protested  the  man.  "  You 
can't  get  out  of  it  that-a-way." 

"Anyhow,  Bill,"  said  the  bride-elect, 
"Jim's  a'ready  asked  David  Carroll  to  be 
best  man,  an*  I  reckon  the  best  man  gets 
the  best  girl  ary  time.  Ain't  that  so,  Joyce  ?" 

Joyce's  cheeks  were  flooded  with  color, 
but  she  was  spared  the  necessity  of  a  reply, 
as  Bill's  big  voice  broke  in  again: 

"Jim  Morgan  knows  what  side  his  bread 
is  buttered  on,"  he  said  with  an  ugly  grin. 
"  Trust  him  for  workin'  in  with  the  boss. 
He's  on'y  fishin'  for  a  weddin'  gif,  an'  mebbe 
Dave'll  be  so  tickled  when  he  learns  who  he's 
to  stand  up  with,  he'll  make  Jim  a  present 
of  half  the  mill — no  tellin'.  I  don't  know 
as  I'd  blame  him  for  doin'  it,  either,"  with  a 
leer  at  the  girl  beside  him. 

"  Air    yo'    an'    Dave    Carroll    a-talkin'  ?" 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

asked  one  of  the  older  women  of  Joyce, 
using  this  mountain  phrase  for  courtsnip, 
while  the  younger  girls  present  giggled  at 
the  blunt  demand  for  information  on  so 
delicate  a  matter. 

"Why!  Hush  up!  How  you-all  go  on!" 
ejaculated  Baity.  'I  never  neerd  nary  such 
foolish  question." 

"Weh-ell!"  retorted  the  woman  in  defense 
of  her  query,  "I  'low  they  was  a-talkin' 
las'  fall.  I  seen  'em  onct  out  horsebackin', 
an'  hit  looked  mighty  like  they  was  a-talkin', 
to  me." 

"I  reckon  Jim'll  be  extry  late  in  gettin' 
round  this  evenin',"  said  Bill.  "  He  s  got 
to  do  double  duty  at  the  mill  these  days — • 
I  ain't  been  thar,"  and  he  scowled  at  his 
own  thoughts.  "  An'  so  Mr.  Bruce  Patterson's 
away  from  home  again,"  he  said  directly 
to  Joyce,  as  he  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"Bruce's  away  right  smart  of  the  time 
these  days,  ain't  he  ?"  asked  one  of  the  other 
men  carelessly.  "What's  he  a-doin'  outside 
now  anyhow  ?" 

"That's  jus*  what  you  don't  find  out," 
answered  Bill  angrily — "  you  nor  nobody  else, 
damn  him." 

164 


"Bruce  Patterson  is  a  good  man,"  quavered 
Gran'pap  who  had  caught  the  name.  "He 
favors  his  pappy,  an'  Hiram  was  the  bes' 
human  I  ever  knowed.  Bruce,  he's  been 
makin'  some  mistakes,  mebbe, — an'  he's 
boun'  to  pay  for  'em, — but  he'll  come  out  all 
right  yit,  don't  yo'  be  fearin'  bouten  thet." 

The  children  had  begun  to  run  up  to  say 
good-bye,  and  Joyce  was  led  off  by  a  group 
of  them.  As  she  left,  she  overheard  one  of 
Bill's  sisters  tell  him  to  "shet  up  an'  not  be 
a-gassin'  that-a-way — yo'  an'  Gran'pap.  I'm 
plumb  ashamed  o'  yore  manners!" 

"Why,"  rejoined  Bill  angrily,  "ary  one 
knows  that  Bruce  ain't  none  too  happy  in 
his  own  home,  an'  like  ary  man  since 
Adam,  he's  been  a-peepin'  over  the  bars  into 
his  neighbor's  pasture,  where  there's  richer 
feedin'." 

All  his  hearers  looked  at  him  in  bewilder- 
ment, and  he  explained: 

"What  you-all  believe  he  brung  in  that 
verdic'  fer?  An'  now  they  say  he's  away 
a-workin'  an'  a-schemin'  to  keep  'em  from 
grantin'  that  pore  cuss,  Jud  Tyree,  another 
chanct  fer  his  life,  an*  he's  got  Jud's  wife 
fixed  up  right  out  here  near  his  mine.  But 
Zulemmy's  a  good  girl,  an'  a  damn  pretty 

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The  Twelfth  Juror 

one,  an'  I'm  a-goin'  .  .  ." 

"Ho!  yo'  shet  up  such  gab,"  interrupted 
one  of  the  men.  "  Yo'  mus'  o'  got  a  double 
mixtery  in  yore  head  this  eveninY 

Bill  growled  but  made  no  other  reply,  and  a 
moment  later  walked  away  and  disappeared. 

Joyce  was  glad  to  miss  him  from  the  group 
that  walked  with  her  to  the  bars,  and  that 
one  of  the  other  young  men  lifted  her  into 
the  saddle.  One  of  the  younger  couples, 
who  lived  near  Hollywood,  rode  with  her, 
the  two  on  one  horse,  and  the  shouts  of  fare- 
well to  the  three  were  repeated  until  they 
had  nearly  reached  Bill's  cabin.  There  bars 
of  light  streamed  across  the  road  from  the 
open  door  and  through  the  unfinished  lattice 
screen.  The  animals  and  their  riders  natu- 
rally turned  their  heads  towards  the  light, 
and  Joyce's  heart  stood  still  at  what  she 
saw  within  the  building. 

Just  beyond  the  door  sat  Zulemmy,  clad 
in  one  of  her  new  gowns,  a  scarlet  bow  in 
her  dusky  hair,  her  full  red  lips  smiling 
mischievously,  her  handsome  eyes  upturned 
to  a  man  who  stood  near  her  talking  earnestly, 
as  though  arguing  with  her.  The  masculine 
figure  was  only  partially  visible  to  the  passers- 
by  and  no  part  of  his  face  could  be  seen  by 

166 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

them,  but  from  his  gestures  one  could  only 
infer  that  he  was  passionately  pleading  with 
his  coquettish  companion. 

Joyce  turned  her  eyes  quickly  away,  but  a 
cold  chill  ran  over  her  as  sne  recognized 
David  Carroll's  trim  figure.  She  heard  the 
two  on  the  other  horse  laugh  together  and 
heard  Bill  Tread  way's  name  whispered,  and 
she  clutched  at  the  possibility  that  the  man 
back  in  the  cabin  might  be  Treadway.  He 
had  not  been  with  the  others  at  her  leave- 
taking,  and  he  might  have  slipped  into  his 
best  coat  and  hurried  over  to  visit  Mrs. 
Tyree.  There  could  have  been  no  question 
of  mistaking  anv  of  the  other  young  moun- 
taineers for  David,  but  Bill's  military  training 
had  taught  him  to  hold  himself  erect,  to  keep 
his  face  shaven  and  his  hair  trimly  clipped, 
and  at  a  casual  glance  the  backs  of  the  two 
men  were  not  dissimilar.  This  modest,  fas- 
tidious girl,  who  had  grown  to  maidenhood 
in  a  household  of  which  she  was  the  only 
feminine  member,  had  in  spite  of  this  fact — 
or  because  of  it — learned  little  or  nothing 
of  the  black  depths  of  passion  that  underlie 
the  fair  surface  of  organized  society.  Of 
course,  she  had  read  books  that  hinted  at 
secret  pages  in  the  history  of  some  men,  but 

167 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

she  had  always  thought  of  them  as  belonging 
to  a  lower,  more  grossly  minded  class.  And 
now? 

She  rode  on  in  silence,  not  knowing  nor 
caring  whether  her  companions  spoke  to 
her  or  not.  From  chill  numbness  her  sensa- 
tion changed  to  burning  heat;  she  drove 
her  nails  fiercely  into  her  soft  palms  in  agony 
as  she  struggled  against  the  impulse  to  turn 
back,  to  confront  those  two  in  the  cabin — 
the  woman  whose  husband  was  yet  alive, 
and  the  man  who  could  take  advantage  of 
a  husband's  absence; — to  drag  David  away 
from  those  red,  smiling  lips,  those  dark, 
seductive  eyes. 

Yet — why  should  she  object  if  this  man 
chose  to  spend  his  leisure  with  an  ignorant 
woman,  a  married  woman  who  had  once 
been  a  servant  in  his  own  home?  What 
was  it  to  her?  An  outrage,  of  course,  but 
the  outrage  would  be  the  same  whether  the 
man  were  David  or  Bill;  yet  she  could  think 
quite  calmly  of  Bill  in  such  a  position,  while 
the  possibility  that  it  might  be  David  drove 
all  her  blood  raging  through  her  veins.  What 
was  the  meaning  of  her  wildly  throbbing 
heart,  of  the  stifling  anguish  that  was  rending 
her?  Was  it  that  to  her  David  was  some- 

168 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

thing  more  than  other  men?  Was  it  that 
she  loved  him  ?  Did  she — did  she — did  she  ? 
Could  she  love  a  man  who  could  stoop  to  so 
vulgar  an  intrigue  ? 

Then  as  the  fever  cooled  and  her  pulse 
grew  more  regular,  she  reasoned  that  it 
might  not  have  been  David  after  all;  it  might 
have  been  Bill  Treadway — of  course  it  was 
Bill  Treadway.  Slowly  she  roused  to  full 
consciousness  of  her  whereabouts.  She  heard 
the  toneless  trill  of  the  tree-toads,  the  hoarse 
rattle  of  the  crickets,  the  cheep  of  nesting 
birds,  and  woven  through  all  the  other 
voices  of  the  night,  the  endless  quarrel 
of  the  katydids:  " Did— did— did !  Didn't— 
didn't— did!" 

She  knew  when  home  was  reached  at  last, 
that  she  was  lifted  from  her  horse  by  her 
cousin  Bruce,  who  had  unexpectedly  returned 
during  the  day,  that  she  said  something  to 
Letitia.  Then  she  stumbled  up  to  her  room, 
and  groping  about  in  the  dark,  like  one  whose 
wounded  eyes  fear  the  light,  undressed  and 
crept  into  her  bed.  It  was  the  shock  of  mis- 
recognition  that  had  upset  her  so,  she  repeated 
to  herself  over  and  over  again.  Of  course 
she  did  not  care  so  deeply  for  David  Carroll 
and  his  affairs — certainly  she  did  not 

169 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

she  did  not  love  him of  that  she  was 

quite,  quite  sure. 

She  wooed  sleep  by  every  device  she  had 
ever  learned,  but  all  in  vain,  for  between 
her  cheek  and  the  pillow  there  was  an  endless 
beating,  like  a  voice  repeating  one  word; 
or  was  it  one  of  those  quarrelsome  insects 
that  had  followed  her  in  and  was  reiterating 
the  assertion  .  .  .  "Did — did — did!  Did — 
did— did!" 


170 


IT  WAS  with  loitering,  reluctant  steps  that 
Joyce  went  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morn- 
ing. For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was 
painfully  self-conscious,  for  she  felt  as  if 
the  revelations  of  the  previous  night  had 
left  traces  upon  her  face  that  he  who  ran 
might  interpret.  She  had  prepared  herself 
to  parry  or  evade  any  inquiries  in  regard 
to  her  changed  appearance,  and  with  the 
inconsistency  of  her  sex,  she  was  chagrined, 
not  to  say  hurt,  that  of  the  two  who  awaited 
her  coming,  one  only  jokingly  complimented 
her  on  the  increased  splendor  of  her  bloom, 
and  the  other  peevishly  envied  her  her  care- 
free lot. 

Bruce  looked  haggard  and  distressed;  in 
his  eyes  burned  the  fever  of  one  who  seeks  to 
avert  a  threatened  doom.  He  had  returned 
from  a  fruitless  quest  only  that  he  might 
plan  other  methods  for  liberating  the  prisoner 
Tyree,  and  at  the  same  time  free  his  own 
future  from  the  haunting  doubts  that  he 
could  foresee  would  pursue  him  to  his  grave, 
if  through  his  instrumentality  a  fellow  man 

171 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

should  meet  an  ignominious  death.  The 
theory  that  justice  is  mercy,  mercy  to  thou- 
sands born  and  unborn,  no  longer  had  power 
to  calm  his  spasms  of  terrified  remorse. 
By  what  right  did  human  law  demand  life 
for  We?  By  whose  authority  did  it  saddle 
a  man,  or  a  body  of  men,  with  the  awful 
responsibility  of  such  decisions  ? 

He  tried  to  talk  with  his  wife,  with  Joyce 
when  the  latter  came  down,  but  all  the  while 
he  was  tormented  by  his  own  thoughts. 
The  fact  that  Letitia  still  stubbornly  urged 
him  to  persist  in  searching  for  the  truth  along 
the  lines  that  she  prescribed  made  no  impres- 
sion on  him;  to  a  man  in  mortal  anguish 
a  pin-prick  more  or  less  is  unfelt. 

Both  husband  and  wife  were  unwontedly 
silent  and  distraught  and  to  relieve  the  strained 
situation  Jovce  laughed  and  chattered  as 
was  her  habit,  longing  all  the  while  to  shake 
Bruce  out  of  what  seemed  to  her  an  unmanly 
mood,  and  to  confound  Letitia  by  the  feminine 
offering  of  a  "  piece  of  her  mind."  Managing 
to  control  both  these  desires  during  the  un- 
comfortable meal,  she  slipped  away  as  soon 
as  it  was  over  and  ran  down  the  long  side  slope 
of  the  yard  to  where  a  hammock  swung 
in  a  clump  of  trees.  Here  she  lay,  looking 

172 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

up  through  the  flickering  network  of  leaves 
to  the  clear  blue  dome  far  above,  and  strug- 
gling with  an  impulse  that,  at  last,  overpowered 
her.  Then  she  stole  through  the  trees  to 
the  stable,  ordered  her  horse  saddled  once 
more,  and  was  soon  riding  over  the  road 
along  which  she  had  travelled  so  happily 
the  preceding  morn,  and  by  which  she  had 
returned,  a  stricken  creature,  in  the  dusk 
of  the  early  night.  Strive  as  she  would, 
her  heart  had  failed  to  convince  her  reason 
that,  beyond  all  peradventure,  it  was  Bill 
Treadway  who  had  taken  the  man's  part 
in  the  tableau  revealed  to  her  by  the  gaps 
in  the  lattice  screen.  She  was  urging  upon 
her  mind  now,  that  if  the  man  she  had  seen 
with  Zulemmy  had  not  been  David  Carroll, 
she  owed  it  to  him  to  clear  away  every  tinge 
of  doubt,  and  to  this  end  she  had  resolved 
to  ascertain  from  Mrs.  Tyree  herself,  who 
had  been  her  visitor  on  the  foregoing  night. 
It  did  not  occur  to  the  girl  that  the  investiga- 
tion on  which  she  was  bent  might  be  fraught 
with  keen  embarrassment  for  her,  until  she 
spied  Zulemmy  hanging  some  small  garments 
on  the  bushes  that  overgrew  the  angle  in 
the  rail  fence  that  enclosed  the  Treadway 
acres.  It  was  then  too  late  to  retreat,  for 

173 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  woman  had  already  seen  her  and  was  smil- 
ing lazily  and  calling  "  Howdy/' 

"Yo'  aimin'  to  come  in  today?"  Mrs. 
Tyree  asked  in  the  accent  of  one  wno  presses 
her  hospitality,  for  she  welcomed  any  excuse 
for  ceasing  her  labors,  and  she  disliked 
solitude,  and,  walking  to  the  narrow  gate, 
she  held  it  open  for  Joyce  to  ride  in.  *  I'm 
jes'  powerful  tickled  to  see  yo',"  she  continued, 
as  her  visitor  dismounted  and  threw  her 
bridle  over  a  limb  of  a  convenient  bush. 
"How  yo-all  down  to  yore  house?  I  been 
aimin'  to  come-by  an'  say  howdy  ever'  day 
this  week,  but  I  ain't  got  thar  yit.  'Low 
Aunt  Philomee  mus'  be  a-worritin'  'bout 
me  an'  a-wishin'  fo'  me  powerful  bad," 
and  she  laughed  with  indolent  good-humor 
in  which  a  spice  of  mischief  lurked.  "She's 
a  good  human,  Aunt  Philomee  is,  if  she  is  a 
nigger,  but  she's  sure  tetchy." 

"She  likes  to  keep  what  is  hers,"  Joyce 
could  not  forbear  from  saying,  while  ner 
color  rose  at  the  double  meaning  her  words 
had  for  herself,  though  she  was  aware  that 
Zulemmy  would  make  no  personal  application 
of  them.  In  fact  her  hostess  continued  to 
show  such  appreciation  of  the  visit,  and 
was  so  frankly  hospitable  and  replete  with 

174 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

goodwill,  that  Joyce  grew  ashamed  of  the 
real  purpose  of  her  ride  and  lost  the  ugly 
misgivings  that  had  disturbed  her,  as  she 
replied  to  queries  regarding  everything  on 
the  Patterson  place,  including  the  animals 
and  the  cistern. 

"How's  baby?"  she  asked  in  her  turn, 
after  a  time,  looking  over  to  the  corner  of 
the  floor,  where,  on  a  folded  quilt,  the  almost 
nude  infant  lay  fast  asleep. 

"Ho,  Ula  Bell's  real  peart;  but  hit's  the 
mos'  contrairy  chile,"  was  the  mother's  re- 
sponse, and  as  that  same  instant  the  blue 
eyes  opened  wide  and  a  fat  leg  was  flung 
high  in  air:  "Thar  now!  Look  at  that! 
Ain't  hit  the  mos'  contrairy  chile?  Hit's 
a-teethin',  too,  an'  I  had  Noc  ketch  a  moth- 
miller,  an'  tried  to  git  hit  to  bite  on  hits  tail, — 
yo'  know  thet's  good  for  teethin',  but  hit 
wouldn't  give  nary  bite,  hit's  that  contrairy. 
Noc,  he's  a-goin'  to  school,  'long  of  some 
of  the  Tread  way  boys.  There's  right  smart 
of  'em  round  this-a-way.  He  seen  yo'  over 
to  Gran'pap's  yes'day  evenin',  a-playin' 
games  with  the  young  ones,  an'  he  cried  some 
to  go  over  thar  too,  but  he  was  mindin' 
Ula  Bell,  an'  I  'lowed  thar  was  'nough  over 
yan  'thout  'em.  Gran'pap's  got  a  powerful 

175 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

lot  o' kin." 

"Yes,"  replied  Joyce  slowly,  wondering 
if  she  might  use  this  opening  to  say  some- 
thing about  Bill  and  so  lead  up  to  the  events 
of  the  night  before;  but  not  seeing  just  how 
to  do  so,  she  picked  up  the  baby,  who  still 
sprawled  on  the  quilt,  and  tossed  and  played 
with  her. 

"I  must  go  back  before  the  sun  gets  too 
high,"  she  said,  while  she  patty-caked  the 
pudgy  hands  of  the  infant  now  seated  upon 
her  lap.  "I'd  take  Noc  down  with  me  if 
he  were  here — he  might  think  it  was  fun  to 
ride  down  for  the  day  and  play  in  that  cave 
he  was  burrowing  when  he  was  there.  My 
Cousin  Bruce  is  very  fond  of  the  little  fellow.  ' 

"He'd  sure  be  plumb  tickled  to  go  'long 
with  yo'  if  he  was  home,"  answered  his  step- 
mother, "but  school  ain't  let  loose  yit,  an* 
I  don'  know  as  teacher  would  like  to  hev 
me  fetch  him  off.  Is  Bruce  home  now  ?" 

There  was  a  shade  of  worriment  in  the 
dark  eyes  as  this  question  was  asked,  that 
Joyce  construed  to  mean  that  Zulemmy 
was  anxious  to  know  what  progress  had  been 
made  toward  the  release  of  her  husband, 
and  with  the  memory  of  the  scene  in  this 
same  room  the  night  before  in  her  mind, 

176 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

her  voice  was  filled  with   scorn  as  she  said 
shortly : 

"Yes  he  is  at  home."  Then  she  rose  and 
carried  the  baby  back  to  the  improvised  cot 
on  the  floor.  'Now,  Miss  U.  B.,  you  are 
to  go  straight  back  to  dreamland,"  she  said 
as  she  stooped  to  lay  the  plump  body  down. 
As  she  did  this,  her  eye  fell  on  a  bit  of  crumpled 
cloth  that  the  quilt  partly  covered,  and  she 
mechanically  leaned  further  forward  and 
picked  it  up.  She  felt  the  next  instant  as  if 
all  the  blood  in  her  body  had  rushed  to  her 
face,  for  she  at  once  recognized  the  fine  linen 
square  as  one  of  the  dozen  men's  handker- 
chiefs she  had  been  commissioned  by  Mrs. 
Pritchett  to  buy  and  send  down  from  Louis- 
ville the  winter  before.  Yes,  it  certainly 
was  one  of  that  self-same  box,  as  there  was 
a  peculiarity  about  the  hems  that  had  caught 
her  fancy  when  she  made  the  purchase  and 
by  whicn  she  easily  identified  it  now.  She 
held  it  in  her  hand  while  she  looked  straight 
at  the  woman  who  brought  such  sorrow  and 
trouble  in  her  wake,  and  the  young  eyes 
turned  steely  and  the  soft  lips  stiffened  with 
contempt.  Zulemmy  in  the  full  glare  of 
day,  and  before  she  had  taken  time  to  brush 
put  her  mop  of  hair  and  arrange  her  clothing, 

177 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

lacked  much  of  the  wild  beauty  that  was, 
at  times,  hers;  and  to  this  exquisitely  neat 
maiden,  the  slovenly,  unkempt  figure  that 
she  confronted  was  entirely  without  grace 
or  charm. 

It  is  always  difficult  for  a  woman  of  refined 
tastes  and  sensibilities  to  comprehend  the 
attraction  the  Carmen  type  has  for  men. 

"Thet's  Dave  Carroll's,  I  reckon,"  said 
Zulemmy,  frankly  unmindful  of  the  abrupt 
change  in  the  look  and  manner  of  her  caller. 
"He  mus'  hev  left  hit  here  las'  evenin'.  I 
was  aimin'  to  git  Bill  or  some  of  the  Treadway 
kin  to  take  hit  down  to  him." 

"I  will  take  it,"  said  Joyce  with  a  sudden 
resolution,  tucking  the  scrap  of  linen  into 
the  pocket  of  her  coat.  Then  she  hastened 
out  and  mounted  her  horse,  making  but  scant 
response  to  the  farewells  and  messages  that 
the  unperturbed  Zulemmy  called  after  her. 

The  gossamer  square  seemed  to  weigh 
tons  as  the  girl  rode  back  along  the  edge  of 
the  road.  There  could  no  longer  be  any 
doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  the  man  she  had 
seen  through  the  broken  lattice,  and  the 
waves  of  grief  that  now  threatened  to  engulf 
all  the  brightness  of  her  life  made  the  reply 
to  her  heart  that  she  had  hitherto  refused 

178 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

to  give.  Craving  solitude  like  any  wounded 
creature,  she  turned  her  horse  from  the  road 
into  the  timberland  at  one  side.  When  she 
had  come  to  a  point  where  there  was  no 
possibility  of  being  spied  by  a  passer-by,  she 
pulled  the  handkerchief  from  its  hiding  place 
and  twisted  her  nervous  fingers  through  it. 

"What  a  hateful,  hateful  world  it  is," 
she  thought  hotly,  looking  about  with  angry 
eyes  from  which  the  gleam  slowly  faded  as 
the  magic  of  the  forest,  the  matchless  blend- 
ing of  tone — greens,  browns  and  grays, — the 
tangled  mat  of  fern  and  blossom,  the  flash 
of  winging  bird  and  insect,  wrought  a  trans- 
formation in  her  mood.  "Or  if  the  world 
itself  were  beautiful,  its  people,  its  men, 
were  both  hateful  and  disappointing — even 
the  best  of  them.  Think  of  Bruce  with  his 
rare  mind,  his  noble  character  and  his  high 
ambitions,  succumbing  to  a  Delilah  with 
mysterious  eyes  and  permitting  her  to  shear 
him  of  his  will,  and  to  make  of  him,  the  once 
mighty,  a  mental  weakling  who  trembled 
at  her  frown!  Think  of — of  David — so  en- 
grossed in  commercial  affairs  that  he  had 
no  time  for  legitimate  pleasures,  yet  not  so 
absorbed  in  the  pursuit  of  wealth  but  that 
he  could  stoop  .  .  .  could  stoop  .  .  ." 

179 


V^Il,       1VJ.IS.       JT11LU11CI 

thrusting    the    handkei 

pocket,  '  I — I  did  not  se 

"I  know  you  didn't 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

The  horse,  long  accustomed  to  his  mistress' 
whims,  had  been  sedately  picking  a  path 
in  and  out  among  the  trees,  around  fallen 
trunks,  and  through  the  brush,  but  now 
suddenly  stopped  and  shied  as  a  figure  rose 
from  a  flat-topped  rock,  and  a  voice  called 
cheerily : 

"Well  met!  The  top  of  the  morning  to 
you,  Joyce." 

Oh,    Mrs.    Pritchett,"    gasped    the    girl, 
handkerchief    back    into    her 

see  you." 

you  didn't  and  didn't  expect  to, 
either,  I  guess.  Is  this  the  way  you  generally 
ride  over  the  country,  or  are  you  looking 
for  something  in  the  woods  today  ?" 

"No-o,  I  just  rode  in  out  of  the  sun.  Hero 
likes  to  poke  along  through  the  leaves.  Where 
are  you  bound  for  ?  Home?  Then  you  ride," 
and  she  jumped  to  the  ground.  'I'll  help 
you  mount." 

Mrs.  E-Nora's  mouth  puckered  quizzically. 
"I  used  to  ride  horseback  when  I  was  a 
girl,"  she  averred,  "  and  since  then  I've  rode 
a  good  many  curious  ways.  I've  learned 
that  there's  more  reasons  than  the  books 
tell  of  why  the  camel  is  fitted  out  with  several 
stomachs,  if  so  be  his  gait  upsets  his  own 

180 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

internal  economy  as  it  does  that  of  the  fool 
that  gets  onto  his  back.  I  wished  I'd  had 
an  extra  one  along  with  me,  as  an  automobilist 
hangs  an  extra  tire  onto  his  machine  when 
he  starts  out — I  did  so.  And  I've  felt  silly 
and  circus-girly  perched  up  in  the  little 
cockadoodle  they  rig  up  on  an  elephant's 
back;  and  I've  prayed  to  Providence  to  for- 
give me  and  spare  the  man,  when  I've 
had  to  be  toted  on  a  human  back,  but  this 
sticking  on  an  animal  whose  backbone  is 
making  right  angles  with  the  road  all  the 
time  is  beyond  my  powers.  I  heard  a  man 
tell  once  of  a  country  where  the  'miles  stand 
straight  on  end,'  and  I  guess  that's  a  pretty 
fair  description  of  these  roads  around  here, 
too.  I'll  keep  to  shankses  mare,  if  it's  all 
the  same  to  you,  thank  you." 

"Then  I  will  walk  on  beside  you,"  and 
the  girl  threw  the  bridle  over  her  arm.  "  Where 
are  you  coming  from,  Mrs.  Pritchett  ?" 

"Oh,  I've  been  out  missionating  a  little. 
I  heard  that  Kendrick's  wife  was  sick,  so 
I  put  up  a  few  things  she  might  relish  and 
tramped  out  there  in  the  cool  of  the  morning. 
Land  sake!  It  was  like  taking  a  broom 
to  sweep  up  the  Atlantic  Ocean!"  The 
plain  face  wrinkled  in  smiles  as  she  continued: 

181 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"Just  as  cheap  to  laugh  as  to  cry,  I  guess, 
and  enough  sight  more  becoming  to  me. 
There  was  the  sick  woman  lying  there  in 
bed,  so  deaf  she  couldn't  hear  a  word  that  was 
said  to  her,  and  there  was  so  many  of  her 
teeth  missin',  I  couldn't  make  out  what  she 
said  to  me.  Kendrick  was  sitting  there 
beside  her,  waving  a  fly-brush  about,  and  I 
wish  you  could  see  the  pants  he  had  on! 
I  ain't  certain  whether  the  quilt-makers 
round  here  would  say  they  was  piece-work 
or  patch-work,  but  they  was  one  or  t'other. 
The  three  daughters,  nothing  but  children 
any  of  them,  fluttered  in  and  out  of  the  cabin 
while  I  was  there,  bare-footed  all  of  'em 
and  with  their  skin  showing  through  their 
gowns  in  all  sorts  of  places.  I  asked  Kendrick 
what  was  being  done  to  help  his  wife,  and  he 
told  me  that  old  Doc  Twichell  had  been 
over  from  Booneville  and  'give  her  some  kin' 
o'  doctor  mixtery,'  and  that  Gran'pap  Tread- 
way  had  come  out  and  breathed  on  her,  but 
even  that  failed  to  cure  the  disease. 

"  'So  a  day  or  two  ago,'  he  said,  'a  stranger 
rid  right  up  to  the  door,  an'  they  jes'  taken 
the  shoe  on  his  lef  foot,  an'  taken  hit  down 
to  the  branch,  an'  let  the  water  run  through 
hit  from  toe  to  heel  three  times,  an'  then 

182 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

filled  hit  with  water,  an'  taken  hit  up  an* 
let  her  drink  outen  hit,  an*  seem  like  she 
got  pearter  right  away.'  How  is  that  for 
the  twentieth  century  and  the  land  of  com- 
pulsory education  ?" 

The  two  smiled  their  perfect  understanding 
at  each  other,  and  then  Mrs.  Pritchett  went 
on  with  growing  ire:  "They  are  in  need  of 
everything — except  flies;  there  were  more 
than  a  plenty  of  them  about.  I  asked  Ken- 
drick  why,  as  his  daughters  were  there  to 
wait  on  their  mother,  he  did  not  go  back  to 
the  mill  and  earn  money  to  buy  what  they 
ought  to  have,  and  he  turned  his  eyes  on  me 
in  grieved  surprise  that  I  should  make  such 
a  cold-blooded  suggestion.  He  said  he  '  didn't 
'low  to  leave  nary  sick  human  a-pinin'  fer 
company';  that  so  long  as  a  body  was  ailin', 
he  aimed  to  stay  right  whar  he  could  bes' 
do  fer  'em.  And  there  he  sits  from  morning 
to  night,  waving  that  fly-brush,  with  the 
clothing  dropping  off  himself  and  his  children, 
and  looks  to  the  neighbors  to  supply  them 
with  food. 

"I  wanted  to  quote  the  old  preacher  to 
him,  the  one  who  said  that  *  ravens  was 
scurser  than  they  use  to  be,'  but  it  would 
be  a  wasting  of  one's  breath.  Don't  stare 

183 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

so,  child!  Maybe  I  am  hardhearted,  but 
the  tender-heartedness  that  is  responsible 
for  such  destitution  always  turns  me  as 
'contrairy'  as  TJla  Bell  Tyree.  By  the  way, 
how  is  Zulemmy  since  she  moved  away 
from  your  home?  Have  you  seen  anything 
more  of  her  ?" 

"I  saw  her  this  morning,"  said  Joyce; 
"I  stopped  there  for  a  few  minutes." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  short 
distance,  and  then  the  elder  woman  laid 
her  hand  on  the  arm  of  her  young  companion 
and  said : 

"Why  not  come  all  the  way  home  with 
me  to-day,  Mary  Joyce?  You  have  not 
made  me  a  visit  for  a  long  time.  Must 
not  let  your  new  friends  crowd  the  old  ones 
out  of  your  affections  altogether,  my  dear. 
When  you  begin  to  feel  tired,  you  can  get  on 
your  horse,  and  ride;  every  one  knows  you 
can't  walk  as  I  do.  We  will  have  a  nice 
talk  together  this  afternoon,  and  stir  up 
something  good  for  David's  supper,  and  he 
can  ride  home  with  you  this  evening.  Poor 
boy,  he's  off  somewheres  to-day  looking 
up  a  stranded  raft,  and  there's  no  knowing 
what  he'll  get  to  eat  this  noon.  Do  come!" 

"  Oh,  I  could  not  come  to-day,  thank  you, 

184 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Mrs.  Pritchett,"  answered  Joyce  in  confusion; 
"I  could  not  possibly  come." 

"  Well,  come  very  soon,  then,"  said  Mrs. 
Pritchett,  her  disappointment  showing  in  her 
voice.  "Speaking  of  Zulemmy,"  she  con- 
tinued after  a  moment,  "when  does  she 
expect  to  go  back  to  her  own  home?  Folks 
ask  me  and  I  tell  'em  she'll  stay  as  long  as 
Mrs.  Letishy  '11  do  for  her.  It's  queer  how 
a  lump  of  putty  like  Zulemmy  always  gets 
looked  after  in  this  world — and  how  much 
trouble  such  a  one  often  causes.  They  do 
say  now  that  Bill  Treadway's  head  has  been 
so  dazed  by  her  lazy  smiles  that  he's  off  on 
a  big  drunk  again.  Women  and  wine !  Some 
men  can't  separate  'em.  And  now  my  David's 
awfully  worried  over  a  notion  Bill  has  got 
on  his  mind — liquor  always  makes  him  gloom 
over  some  looney  idea. 

"  My  nephew  never  has  much  to  say  about 
other  folks'  affairs,  or  his  own  either,  but 
he  has  told  me  enough  about  this  so  that 
I  know  it  was  something  to  do  with  that 
Tyree  trial.  I  wish  to  goodness  they  had 
taken  it  to  any  other  county  but  this!  Every- 
body in  these  parts  seems  to  have  lost  his 
reason  about  it.  The  jury  decided  that 
the  man  was  guilty,  and  that's  all  there  is  to 

185 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

it,  as  far  as  I  see.  But  David's  awfully 
worried  over  it  all.  He  rode  all  the  way 
out  to  talk  with  Zulemmy  last  night  and  urged 
her  to  do  all  she  could  to  persuade  Bill  to 
quit  drinking  and  go  back  to  work,  and  she 
promised  she  would,  and  that  she  would 
not  have  so  much  to  say  about  the  verdict, 
seeing  as  how  she  can't  show  that  it  ain't 
just.  But,  land  sake,  you  might  as  well 
look  to  that  baby,  Ula  Bell,  to  accomplish 
anything  as  her  mother.  I  know  Zulemmy! 
She'll  agree  with  every  one  who  talks  to  her, 
and  she'll  keep  right  on  making  eyes  at  Bill." 

The  youthful  figure  beside  the  speaker  had 
grown  more  erect,  the  fair  face  was  less 
hopeless.  Then,  without  word  of  warning, 
the  girl  halted,  threw  her  arms  across  her 
empty  saddle,  buried  her  face  from  sight 
and  began  to  sob,  her  horse  stopping  and 
looking  back  inquiringly. 

Mrs.  Pritchett  said  nothing  for  a  time. 
She  was  wise  enough  not  to  attempt  to  arrest 
such  sobs  as  these,  and  she  was  too  much 
in  the  dark  as  to  their  cause  to  venture  on 
consolation  or  sympathy.  She  laid  a  hand 
on  the  bent  head.  "Have  your  cry  out, 
honey,"  she  murmured  soothingly;  then  as 
she  saw  the  girl's  hand  fumbling  about  in 

186 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

her  garments:  "Want  your  handkerchief?" 
she  asked,  and  drew  out  the  one  Joyce  had 
tucked  into  her  coat  pocket.  The  girl  took 
it  without  raising  her  face  and  dried  her  eyes, 
and  when  her  sobs  finally  ceased,  she  said 
brokenly : 

"I  cannot  think  what  possesses  me,  what 
makes  me  act  so  silly ;  but — you  know — things 
are  a  little — worrisome  just  now  at  home. 
Cousin  Letitia  cannot  be  made  to  believe  that 
Judson  Tyree  committed  that  murder,  and  she 
blames  Cousin  Bruce  for  the  verdict,  and,  late- 
ly, he  has  begun  to  act  as  if  he  was  frightened 
at  something,  and,  so  you  see,"  here  she 
looked  up  with  a  wan  smile,  turned  crimson 
as  she  noticed  what  was  in  her  hand,  and 
with  much  confusion  rolled  up  the  linen 
and  thrust  it  under  her  saddle. 

Mrs.  Pritchett  gave  no  sign  of  having 
observed  either  the  vivid  blush  or  the  succeed- 
ing action. 

"It's  a  strange  tangle,"  she  said,  musing. 
"It  must  be  hard  on  a  man  to  think  that 
he  has  sent  a  fellow  man  to  death.  I'm  glad 
they  don't  ask  us  women  to  act  on  juries. 
Imagine  what  the  effect  would  be  to  find  out 
after  the  penalty  prescribed  by  law  had  been 
paid,  that  the  verdict  you  had  had  a  hand 

187 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

in  rendering  was  all  an  error — that  the  man 
the  law  had  hanged  was  innocent.  But  in  this 
case,  it  don't  seem  to  me  that  there  could 
be  any  doubt,  even  if  Mrs.  Patterson  does 
think  otherwise.  Your  cousin's  wife  has  her 
good  qualities — the  worst  of  us  have  some— 
but  she  is  opinionated  and  frictions .  And 
she  is  unhappy  down  here,  we  mustn't  forget 
that.  She  will  never  understand  the  moun- 
taineers or  get  nearer  to  them  if  she  lives 
among  them  a  thousand  years." 

She  took  the  girl's  hand  and  the  two 
walked  again  side  by  side.  "And  you  won't 
change  your  mind  and  come  on  with  me 
today,  Mary  Joyce?"  she  begged  once  more, 
as  they  neared  the  point  where  their  paths 
diverged. 

"Not  today,  please,  Mrs.  Pritchett," 
pleaded  Joyce,  but  the  refusal  was  given  in 
very  different  tones  now.  "I  will  come 
soon — the  next  time  your  maid  has  a  day  out." 

"Oh,  she  can  go  any  day,"  was  the  quick 
response;  then  as  the  lady  caught  the  sly 
twinkle  in  the  hazel  eyes  that  were  still  damp 
with  tears,  she  laughed  good-humoredly  and 
said: 

"You  think  my  help's  holidays  are  a  great 
joke,  don't  you — you  and  David?"  The 

188 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

shrewd  observer  did  not  lose  sight  of  the 
color  that  again  dyed  the  girl's  cheeks  at 
this  speech,  but  she  only  added : 

"  Well  come  when  you  like — so  it's  soon." 
"Yes,  I  wrill  come-by  very  soon,"  answered 
Joyce,   using  the   local   phrase,   her  face   all 
aglow  and  her  dimple  in  full  action. 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  come-by,"  mocked 
Mrs.  Pritchett.  "  I  want  you  to  come  in,  come 
in  and  stay — stay  always,"  she  added  daringly, 
as  she  leaned  forward  and  tenderly  kissed 
the  rosy  cheek  nearest  her. 


189 


"DAVID,"  asked  Mrs.  Pritchett  that  same 
evening  as  aunt  and  nephew  were  enjoying 
their  well-cooked,  nicely  served  supper, 
"how  many  of  those  handkerchiefs  I  gave 
you  last  winter  have  you  got  left  ?" 

"Every  one  of  them,  Aunt  Nora,"  was  the 
young  man's  prompt  response.  "  I  have  never 
seen  any  others  I  liked  so  well,  and  being 
your  gift,  besides,  I  am  very  choice  of 
them." 

"Of  course."  Mrs.  E-Nora  thought  she 
could  easily  supply  another  reason  for  this 
unwonted  care — David's  clothing  was  gener- 
ally subjected  to  hard  usage — but  she  said 
nothing  further,  and  sat  puzzling  her  brain 
over  the  circumstance  of  its  having  been  one 
of  those  self-same  kerchiefs  she  had  that 
morning  drawn  from  Joyce's  pocket,  and 
which  the  girl  had  been  so  eager  to  hide. 
She  was  sure  of  this,  for  not  only  had  she 
recognized  the  article  itself,  but  the  small 
monogram  with  which  she  marked  all  of 
David's  linen  had  been  plainly  visible. 
Yet  weeks  had  elapsed  since  David's  last 

190 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

visit  to  the  Pattersons,  and  it  had  been  even 
longer  since  Joyce  had  done  more  than  look 
in  on  her.  Wnile  she  studied  this  enigma, 
her  nephew  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  said: 

"It's  mighty  curious  that  you  should  have 
inquired  about  those  handkerchiefs  tonight, 
Aunt  Nora,  for  come  to  think  of  it,  I  left 
one  of  them  out  at  Zulemmy's  last  evening. 
I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  started,  and  I  took  one 
of  them  from  the  box,  not  necessarily  for  use — " 

"But  as  a  guarantee  of  good  manners," 
suggested  his  listener.  "I  often  take  a  hand- 
kerchief in  that  spirit,  myself." 

"Exactly.  When  I  arrived  at  Bill's  cabin, 
Mrs.  Tyree  was  down  the  road  somewhere, 
and  while  Noc  went  for  her,  I  tried  to  amuse 
the  baby.  She  was  sleepy  and  cross,  the 
little  sinner,  and  as  she  declined  to  cease 
her  howling  and  play  peek-a-boo  with  me, 
I  made  a  rabbit  for  her  out  of  my  handkerchief. 
She  liked  that,  and  hugged  it  up  to  her  so 
tight,  we  did  not  attempt  to  take  it  from  her 
when  her  mother  put  her  to  bed.  I  meant 
to  get  it  before  leaving  there,  but  never  thought 
of  it  again  until  you  spoke  just  now.  I 
wonder  what  occult  influence  made  you  ask 
the  question  ?" 

"Oh,     thought     transference,     or     mental 

191 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

telepathy  or  some  other  tomfoolery.  That 
mind  current  they're  telling  about  is  some 
like  dreams — you  can  lay  what  you  please 
to  it  and  no  one  can  prove  the  contrary. 
It  goes  by  contraries,  too.  It'll  give  away 
your  dearest  secret,  but  it's  as  cranky  as  Uncle 
Sam  about  carrying  your  opinion  of  other 
folks  to  them!  I'd  like  to  use  it  right  now 
to  whisper  to  Letishy  Patterson  what  a  fool 
she's  making  of  herself,  and  Bruce  too, 
chewing  over  that  verdict.  She's  got  her 
husband  worked  up  to  believing  he'll  be  a 
murderer  if  he  lets  Tyree  hang,  and  she's 
nagged  him  into  doing  so  much  for  Zulemmy 
that  there's  some  pretty  nasty  gossip  going 
round.  Some  folks  do  say  that  he  nad  his 
own  object  in  getting  Tyree  out  of  the  way, 
and  that  Letishy's  found  it  out  and  has  set 
herself  to  balk  his  schemes,  and  that's  why 
she's  so  crazy  to  get  Jud  off.  Ain't  that  a 
nice  mixtery  for  you?  Zulemmy,  she  won't 
mind  what  they  say  of  her,  so  long  as  she's 
cared  for  and  has  a  man  to  smile  at  now 
and  again.  Poor  soul!  She  don't  mean  no 
harm;  I  wish  she  did,  for  nothing  ever  comes 
of  her  meanness" 

"Oh,    Zulemmy's    all    right,"    said    David 
carelessly,  thinking  how  ready  she  had  been 

in 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

to  promise  to  use  her  influence  on  Bill  to  get 
him  to  stop  drinking  and  go  to  work.  "She 
is  young  and  fond  of  fun,  and  there  is  not 
much  outlet  for  a  girl  of  her  temperament 
up  here  except  to  smile  and  look  handsome. 
She  is  a  mighty  handsome  woman." 

"Handsome!  David  Carroll!  Well,  she 
may  look  so  to  a  man!  A  woman  can't  see 
through  the  dirt  to  tell  whether  she's  hand- 
some or  not,  but  men  have  queer  tastes, 
even  the  best  of  them.  Perhaps  you'd  not 
think  so  well  of  her  looks  if  you  ever  found 
out  that  she'd  been  interfering  with  your 
personal  affairs,"  aching  to  tell  him  of  the 
episode  of  the  handkerchief,  but  not  seeing 
her  way  clear  to  go  beyond  this  vague  hint. 
"  I  wish  she'd  stayed  in  her  own  home,  where 
she'd  ought  to  be,  and  not  come  traipsing 
down  here  stirring  up  such  strife.  Letishy 
would  never  have  known  of  the  trial  if  she 
hadn't  come  along,  and  then  Bruce  wouldn't 
be  wild-goose  chasing  over  the  country,  nor 
on  the  rack  when  he's  home.  Things  get 
to  such  a  pass  up  there  now,  that  poor  little 
Mary  Joyce  has  to  run  off  by  herself  in  the 
woods  and  cry." 

"Does  she  run  off  and  cry?"  asked  David, 
outwardly  calm,  but  there  was  a  certain 

193 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

undertone  to  his  speech  that  the  keen  ears 
listening  to  him  did  not  fail  to  catch.  "I 
should  not  think  she  need  do  that.  She  could 
run  back  to  Frankfort  or  Lexington,  or 
over  to  the  Springs,  and  laugh  and  forget 
about  everything  here." 

"So  she  could  if  she  was  another  sort  of 
girl;  but  she  can  see  she's  needed  at  home 
to  keep  things  from  going  all  to  smash, — 
what  with  Letishy  and  her  doings  and  Aunt 
Philomee  and  her  grievances, — and  Zulemmy 
and  Tyree,  and  the  dog  and  the  cat  and  the 
cows  and  pigs  and  who-not  and  what-not  all 
snarled  up  in  a  mess.  I  don't  believe  she 
cares  much  for  those  Blue  Grass  beaux  of 
hers,  either,  when  all's  said  and  done.  When 
she  first  come  home,  I  suspicioned  she'd 
left  her  heart  outside,  but  I  guess,  after  all, 
she  brought  it  back  with  her  in  the  same 
condition  it  was  when  she  went  away.  I 
don't  think  any  of  those  harum-scarum  young 
fellows  that  have  been  doing  their  prettiest 
to  help  this  branch  of  the  railroad  earn  its 
first  dividend  have  succeeded  in  getting  it 
away  from  her — yet. 

"  Talk  about  Zulemmy — a  married  woman 
with  a  child, — needing  some  one  to  make 
eyes  at,  how  about  Mary  Joyce?  I  feel  to 

194 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

wish  there  was  more  young  folks  for  her  to 
run  with  round  here — a  man  or  two  that 
wasn't  so  tied  down  to  business  but  what 
he  could  take  time  to  live,"  she  explained 
with  much  emphasis,  apparently  oblivious 
of  the  fact  that  among  all  the  voters  of  Holly- 
wood and  its  surroundings,  only  the  one  now 
facing  her  could  wear  a  cap  of  this  color. 
"When  Bruce  stays  at  home,  she  ain't  quite 
so  lonesome,  for  he  rides  with  her  and  teases 
and  jokes  with  her,  but  when  he's  gone  there's 
lots  of  times  she  has  to  amuse  herself,  and 
that's  pretty  tame  amusement  for  a  girl  of 
her  age,  and  temperament,"  scornfully,  "as 
you  call  it.  In  my  day  we  left  off  them  last 
two  syllables,  but  we  meant  the  same  thing. 
"Let  me  see,"  she  rambled  on,  after  a  pause 
during  which  David  seemed  absorbed  by 
his  meal— -"I  was  wondering  how  'twould 
do  to  ask  Bob  Pritchett  down  here — John  P. 
Pritchett's  son.  He  must  be  twenty-two 
or  three  by  this  time — he  wasn't  so  much 
younger  than  you.  You  remember  him,  don't 
you,  David  ?  He  came  out  and  stayed  a  while 
with  us  that  winter  you  and  your  father 
and  Pritchett  and  me  was  out  to  California. 
You  was  both  little  boys  then.  Bob's  had 
a  splendid  education  and  travelled  about 

195 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

pretty  near  all  over  Kingdom  Come  from 
what  I've  heard  tell,  and  he'll  fall  heir  to 
considerable  fortune  from  his  mother's  folks. 
He's  a  lively  one  too — takes  after  his  father — • 
John  P.  was  always  a  great  hand  to  train — 
and  a  good  looker  (the  Pritchetts  are  all 
that),  and  his  mother's  one  of  the  salt  of  the 
earth.  I'd  be  glad  to  hear  from  her  again, 
and  I'll  write  this  very  night  and  see  if  Bob 
can't  fix  to  come  down  and  make  us  a  visit. 
What  say,  David  ?  As  long  as  Joyce's  friends 
stay  off  at  the  sea-shore  and  where-not,  she 
could  take  hold  and  help  me  entertain  him; 
he  could  row  her  up  the  river  and  ride  around 
the  country  with  her.  If  anything  serious 
should  be  the  outcome  of  it,"  after  a  moment's 
reflection,  "I  don't  see  as  any  objections 
could  be  made  by  either  the  Pritchetts  or 
the  Pattersons.  Letishy  'd  be  glad  enough 
to  have  Joyce  go  North  to  live,  and  then 
maybe  she  wouldn't  have  to  work  so  hard 
to  get  Bruce  headed  in  that  direction,  too. 
I'll  do  it!  I'll  write  this  very  night,"  she 
concluded  with  great  decision,  rising  abruptly 
from  the  table. 

"Just  as  you  like,  Aunt  Nora,"  was  the 
reply  of  the  imperturbable  young  man  who 
rose  with  her.  "It  would  be  pleasant  to 

196 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

see  old  Bob  down  here.  I  have  run  across 
him  at  times  when  I  have  been  up  North, 
and  he's  a  mighty  fine  fellow.  Do  you  remem- 
ber that  time  in  California  when  he  and  I 
stole  the  oranges  ?" 

"Oranges!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  E-Nora  with 
an  angry  whisk  out  of  the  room;  then  when 
safely  out  of  hearing  she  muttered:  "He 
may  have  stole  oranges,  but  'twas  punkin- 
heads  you  got." 

She  remained  in  her  room  until  she  smelled 
the  odor  of  a  freshly  lighted  cigar  and  heard 
her  nephew  leave  the  house.  He  had  told 
her  that  some  of  the  mill  machinery  was  to 
be  overhauled  and  that  he  must  go  back 
and  superintend  the  work,  and  when  she  was 
sure  he  was  out  of  sight,  she  came  down, 
and  taking  her  seat  on  the  porch  in  front  of 
the  house,  made  the  rockers  of  her  stout 
hickory  chair  creak  with  the  energy  of  her 
motion. 

"I'll  swear  he  did  begin  to  care  for  her," 
she  repeated  to  herself  as  she  grew  more 
calm,  'and  it  don't  seem  like  David  to  get 
over  it  so  easy.  Trouble  is,  his  time's  so 
full  of  business  and  schemes  for  his  employees, 
that  he  don't  have  no  chance  to  get  acquainted 
with  himself.  That  club  of  his!  Philan- 

197 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

thropy !  Pooh !  He's  got  no  call  to  be  bother- 
ing about  any  brotherly  love  at  his  age — 
nor  sisterly  love,  neither!  His  mind  had 
ought  to  be  running  on  a  sweetheart  instead 
of  free  shower-baths  for  those  who  won't 
take  'em,  and  a  library  of  books  for  men 
who  can't  read!"  Her  thoughts  turned  to 
the  revelation,  the  mute  confession  that  had 
involuntarily  been  made  to  her  in  the  woods 
that  morning,  and  her  ire  bubbled  over 
with  greater  vehemence.  "  She  cares  for  him, 
I'm  dead  certain  of  that  now,  and  he — has 
— just — got — to — care — for — her!"  A  rock 
between  each  word.  "The  idea!  I  won't 
believe  but  what  he  does,  when  all's  said  and 
done,  but  if  there's  a  human  being  on  this 
globe  that  can  match  David  Carroll  in  hiding 
his  feelings,  I'd  like  to  know  where  such  a 
one  is  to  be  found." 

The  fatigue  resulting  from  her  morning's 
tramp  crept  over  her  as  she  sat  out  in  the 
twilight,  and  at  an  earlier  hour  than  was  her 
custom,  she  closed  the  house  and  went  up 
to  her  room  for  the  night.  When  she  had 
made  ready  for  bed,  she  stepped  before  the 
old-fashioned  bureau  that  stood  against  one 
wall,  and  a  grim  smile  wrinkled  her  cheeks 
as  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  card  that  had  been 

198 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

stuck  in  the  frame  of  the  mirror — a  post- 
card on  which  Cupid  disported  his  chubby 
self  among  hearts  and  darts  and  gaudy 
floral  wreaths.  It  had  come  to  her  from  one 
of  her  far-away  nieces  the  previous  St.  Valen- 
tine's Day,  and  had  been  cherished  for  the 
affection  that  prompted  its  sending.  The 
old  lady  looked  from  the  dimpled,  roguish 
face  of  the  God  of  Love  to  the  reflection  of 
her  own  angular  features,  made  more  severe 
than  ever  by  the  plainly  cut  night-gown  she 
had  put  on  and  the  excruciatingly  tight  pug 
into  which  she  had  twisted  her  sparse  locks, 
and  an  expression  of  humorous  discomfiture 
pursed  her  mouth. 

"I've  always  been  told  there  was  no  fool 
like  an  old  fool,"  she  confided  to  the  pictured 
Cupid,  "but  I  guess  there's  one  sort  of  fool 
who  can  beat  that,  and  that's  an  old  fool 
trying  to  pass  for  a  young  fool.  I  might 
have  known  I'd  only  make  a  fizzle  of  your 
game." 

She  was  falling  into  the  deep  slumber 
induced  by  prolonged  out-of-door  exercise, 
when  a  step  hurried  along  the  walk  outside, 
the  house  door  was  unlocked  and  opened, 
and  some  one  entered  and  hurriedly  ran  up 
the  stairs.  There  was  a  quick  tap  at  her 

199 


The  Twelfth  Jurvr 

door  and  David's  voice  called : 

"  You  still  awake,  Aunt  Nora  ?" 

She  sat  up  in  alarm.  Accidents  with  the 
saws  and  fires  among  the  piled  lumber  had 
been  bugbears  for  the  greater  part  of  her 
life,  and  her  mind  at  once  suspected  some 
grewsome  catastrophe. 

"Yes,  I  am  awake.  What  is  the  trouble, 
David  ?  What  has  happened  ?" 

There  was  a  pause  before  the  voice  in  the 
hall,  a  voice  that  was  David's  and  yet  subtly 
differed  from  its  smooth  cadence,  stammered: 

"No-nothing — nothing  much.  I  was  only 
wondering  whether  you  had  sent  that  letter 
yet?" 

"What  letter?" 
'  The  one  to  Bob." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  lady  and  as  the 
significance  of  the  inquiry  dawned  upon  her, 
she  gave  a  sly  wink  at  her  conscience  and 
replied : 

"I  have  not  finished  it  yet.  You  want  to 
send  a  message  ?" 

"Y-No!  But  if  you  have  not  already 
sent  it,  I  want  to  ask  you  to  wait  awhile. 
There  may  be  something — I  can  explain 
to  you  later." 

'  Anything  wrong  at  the  mill  ?" 

200 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Was  it  only  in  her  imagination  that  she  heard 
the  smothered  words  "  Damn  the  mill"  ? 

She  sat  perfectly  still  and  listened  until 
she  heard  David's  door  close  with  an  impatient 
snap,  then  she  arose  and  with  great  delibera- 
tion relighted  her  lamp  and  carried  it  back 
to  the  bureau.  Again  the  saucy  eyes  of  the 
baby  god  met  hers,  but  it  was  the  woman 
that  radiated  triumph  now. 

"There!"  she  said,  emphasizing  her  words 
with  a  nod.  "I  guess  I've  got  that  tangle 
straightened  out  for  you,  and  I  want  you 
should  be  careful  not  to  get  things  so  snarled 
up  again,"  and  with  the  smile  of  a  victor,  she 
retraced  her  steps,  blew  out  her  light  and  laid 
her  head  upon  her  pillow. 


201 


CHAPTER  XII 

FACILITIES  for  travel  are  conspicuously 
absent  in  the  Cumberlands  of  southeastern 
Kentucky.  For  years  after  the  more  accessible 
portions  of  our  country  were  veiled  by  a 
network  of  intersecting  iron  rails,  the  promoters 
of  rapid  transit  fought  shy  of  this  section, 
not  alone  because  of  the  poverty  of  its  scat- 
tered population,  but  principally  on  account 
of  the  problems  presented  to  constructive 
engineers  by  tiers  of  perpendicular  cliffs  that 
"orru  a  natural  Chinese  wall,  barring  traffic. 
More  recently  the  demand  for  a  market  for 
the  huge  coal  deposits  that  past  ages  have 
stored  there  has  spurred  the  intrepid  surveyor 
to  scale  these  heights  and  span  these  gullies, 
blazing  a  trail  over  which  the  dauntless  steam- 
horse  can  be  driven  with  comparative  safety; 
yet,  at  this  very  day,  many  of  the  highland 
counties  remain  as  destitute  of  any  of  the 
inventions  for  annihilating  distance  as  when 
the  more  restless  of  the  early  Virginia  settlers 
prodded  their  footsore  steeds  westward  to 
these  picturesque  wilds.  A  horse  and  a 
mule  hitched  to  a  stout  wagon  provided 

202 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

with  heavy  brakes  is  the  local  means  of 
transporting  everything  that  cannot  go  "a- 
horseback."  To  learn  to  ride  is  as  essential 
a  part  of  the  development  of  the  mountain 
child  as  to  learn  to  walk,  and  it  is  no  uncommon 
sight  to  behold  a  father  and  three  of  his 
offspring  seated — one  behind  the  other — on 
the  back  of  the  same  animal,  who  jogs  stolidly 
along  with  no  symptom  of  being  overburdened. 

Women  all  use  the  side-saddle,  or  sit 
sidewise  when  a  saddle  has  been  dispensed 
with  altogether.  It  is  regarded  as  immodest 
to  assume  any  other  posture,  and  a  daughter 
of  Eve  who,  clad  in  a  bifurcated  habit,  should 
traverse  these  mountains  "cross-saddle," 
would  bring  scandal  and  reproach  upon  her 
sex. 

To  insure  peace  of  mind  while  availing 
one's  self  of  such  poorly  equipped,  cheaply 
constructed  railroads  as  now  penetrate  these 
rocky  fastnesses,  the  traveler  must  literally 
obey  the  scriptural  injunction  and  "Take 
no  thought  for  the  morrow."  The  anecdote 
of  the  irate  drummer,  who,  having  by  a  hair's 
breadth  missed  the  train  that  he  watched 
steaming  off  in  the  distance,  was  offered 
the  absurd  consolation  that  "hit  was  on'y 
yeste' day's  train"  with  which  he  had  failed 

203 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

to  connect,  does  not  exaggerate  conditions, 
so  indifferent  are  those  who  operate  these 
lines  to  their  published  time-cards. 

On  his  way  from  Hollywood  to  the  state 
capital,  Bruce  Patterson  had  ample  oppor- 
tunity to  weigh  the  pros  and  cons  of  the  errand 
on  which  he  was  bent,  for  a  crippled  locomo- 
tive— after  balking  badly  where  the  stations 
were  comparatively  close  together — at  last 
came  to  a  dead  halt  on  a  bend  where  the 
single  track  lay  between  a  stony  promontory 
on  the  one  side  and  its  precipitous  continua- 
tion on  the  other.  So  far  all  his  attempts 
to  discover  facts  that  would  corroborate 
Letitia's  faith  in  the  innocence  of  Judson 
Tyree  had  been  futile;  nothing  had  come 
to  light  that  could  be  urged  as  a  reason  for 
a  retrial,  and  each  day  found  the  twelfth 
juror  more  distracted  by  the  remorse  that 
nad  already  claimed  him  as  its  prey.  The 
plea  of  the  condemned  man's  fittle  son— 
*  Yo'  won't  let  'em  kill  my  Pappy  "  —rang  in  his 
ears  by  day  and  haunted  his  dreams  at  night. 
The  result  of  a  new  trial  might  leave  the 
sentence  unchanged — but  the  awful  responsi- 
bility for  its  enactment  would  rest  on  other 
shoulders  than  his. 

There  were  now  hours  when  he  grew  numb 

204 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

with  fear  as  he  looked  into  the  future  and  saw 
himself  pursued  by  the  challenging  eyes  of 
Tyree's  son  grown  to  manhood.  He  realized 
perfectly  that,  so  far  as  any  argument  that 
could  be  presented,  Letitia  would  ever  remain 
of  the  opinion  that  the  verdict  had  been 
unjust,  and  he  knew  that,  inconsistent  as  it 
seemed  with  all  the  facts,  her  opinion  would 
be  that  of  a  large  proportion  of  the  mountain 
population. 

Capital  punishment  in  theory  has  its  thou- 
sands of  advocates;  capital  punishment  in 
practice  has  its  tens  of  thousands  of  opponents. 
Bruce  Patterson  was  overwhelmed  at  times, 
when  mentally  reviewing  the  evidence  sub- 
mitted by  the  prosecution,  to  find  nothing 
in  its  meager  details  that  warranted  his 
former  conviction  that  Judson  Tyree  had 
committed  the  murder;  but,  there  were  other 
times,  when  in  solitude,  riding  alone  over 
seldom  travelled  roads,  or  resting  beside  some 
hidden  stream,  when  there  would  again  flash 
before  his  mind  the  mute  confession  made 
by  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner  to  his,  and  this 
memory  would  be  followed  by  a  paroxysm 
of  the  vacillating  indecision  that  is  one  index 
of  the  limitation  of  the  finite  mind.  Of 
this  pregnant  glance  he  had  told  no  one. 

205 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

He  was  aware  of  the  contemptuous  mockery 
with  which  his  wife  would  listen  to  his  belief 
of  the  meaning  of  that  glance;  how  ever  after 
she  would  cite  it  as  proof  of  his  near  kinship 
with  the  superstitious  mountaineers. 

It  was  only  after  a  long,  hard  struggle  with 
himself,  and  after  other  means  for  freeing 
Tyree  had  failed,  that  he  determined  upon 
a  measure,  the  very  suggestion  of  which  had 
at  first  been  repellant.  He  knew  now  beyond 
cavil  or  doubt,  that  if  his  future  life  was  to 
contain  aught  of  worth  or  joy,  Tyree,  guilty 
or  innocent,  must  be  saved  from  the  gallows, 
and  to  this  end  he  must  now  go  to  the  Governor 
of  the  state  and  sue  for  his  pardon.  It  was 
one  symptom  of  his  abnormal  state  of  mind, 
that  he  had  decided  upon  the  very  course  he 
had  cited  many  times,  some  years  before,  as  one 
of  the  most  active  agents  in  the  culture  of 
the  virus  of  reckless  homicide  that  had  in- 
fected his  native  hills.  He  knew  that  he 
could  count  upon  the  mutual  esteem  that 
had  existed  between  Governor  Redfern  and 
his  own  father  to  gain  any  petition  of  his 
a  thoughtful  hearing,  and  he  trusted  to  his 
ability  in  presenting  the  subject  to  induce  the 
Executive — as  in  former  instances — to  accept 
his  viewpoint  and  endorse  his  conclusions. 

206 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

The  fellow-passengers  in  the  small,  high, 
out-of-date  coach  in  which  he  sat  blindly 
thinking, — thinking — made  a  series  of  pilgrim- 
ages along  the  side  of  the  track  to  the  front 
end  of  the  train,  only  to  return  and  impatiently 
resume  their  desultory  conversation,  or  read- 
ing. The  large  flies  that,  apparently,  are 
parasites  of  the  iron  as  of  the  blood-and- 
muscle  steed,  buzzed  distractingly  up  and 
down  the  narrow  window  panes.  The  air 
of  the  car  was  foul  with  the  reek  of  crude 
petroleum,  of  the  ghostly  odors  of  stale  lunches, 
and  the  stench  of  soiled,  sweat-soaked  linen 
and  leather.  As  illustrative  of  man's  help- 
lessness against  the  perversities  of  matter 
nothing  can  be  more  convincing  than  a  break- 
down on  a  jerkwater  railroad.  The  gentle- 
man in  the  seat  across  the  aisle  gave  Bruce 
his  unasked  opinion,  punctuated  by  pauses, 
during  which  he  leaned  out  of  the  window 
to  empty  his  mouth  of  tobacco  juice, — that 
he  "reckoned  'twould  be  a  right  smart  spell 
afore  they  moved  awn;  they  was  a-takin'  the 
engyne  to  pieces  and  pilin'  'em  up  awn  the 
tender  as  fer  as  a  body  could  tell." 

Hope  was  revived  at  last,  however,  by  a 
long,  wild  shriek  from  the  distance,  re-echoed 
by  the  nearby  rocks,  and  another  engine 

207 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

slowly  backed  down  the  track  and  was  attached 
to  the  motionless  cars,  and  soon  after  the  wheels 
began  to  jolt  over  the  ties  again. 

The  train  arrived  at  Frankfort  in  the 
middle  of  a  hot  afternoon,  but  Mr.  Patterson 
hastened  through  the  streets,  whose  shops 
had  the  curious  half-dozy,  half  painfully 
wide-awake  appearance  of  a  person  trying 
to  forego  his  habitual  midday  nap.  At  the 
Capitol  building,  to  reach  which  he  passed 
near  the  tablet  that  commemorates  a  cold- 
blooded murder  that  is  recorded  in  the  history 
of  the  state,  he  was  informed  that  Governor 
Redfern  had  gone  to  his  home;  so  he  walked 
on  under  the  rows  of  dusty  shade  trees,  in 
whose  branches  the  cicadse  shrilled  stridently, 
until  he  was  confronted  by  a  tall,  forbidding 
structure,  with  oddly  devised  turrets  rising 
from  the  angles  of  its  broad  stone  walls,  from 
one  to  another  of  which  marched  men  armed 
and  uniformed.  Immediately  opposite  this 
menacing  edifice,  Bruce  turned  to  his  right 
and  skirted  the  iron  flukes  of  the  fence  that 
encloses  the  gubernatorial  garden.  With  a 
total  lack  of  ceremony,  he  was  admitted  to 
the  home  of  the  ruler  of  the  Commonwealth, 
and  ushered  into  a  semi-official  apartment, 
where  he  found  the  Executive  clad  in  garments 

208 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

more  distinguished  for  airiness  than  for  con- 
ventionality, and  immersed  in  his  voluminous 
correspondence. 

The  Governor  looked  round  as  the  door 
opened,  nodded,  and,  with  a  smile,  pointed 
towards  a  chair,  while  he  continued  his  work 
with  his  secretary — picking  up  letter  after 
letter  in  a  jerky,  nervous  fashion,  scanning 
the  contents  and  then  dictating  the  terse, 
though  courteous,  reply  that  was  characteristic 
of  the  man.  At  last  the  papers  that  had 
been  strewn  all  over  the  top  of  the  desk  had 
all  been  transferred  to  the  waste-basket  or 
the  secretary's  portfolio,  and,  after  receiving 
some  briefly  spoken  instructions,  that  young 
man  discreetly  withdrew. 

As  the  door  to  an  inner  room  closed  upon 
him,  Governor  Redfern,  the  "Reform  Gover- 
nor," as  he  was  designated,  rose — a  short, 
square  figure,  with  close-cropped  grey  beard 
and  hair, — took  a  step  forward  and  grasped 
his  visitor  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"Well!  Well!  Bruce,  my  boy!"  he  ejacu- 
lated, "I  was  looking  for  you  at  my  office 
in  the  Capitol  all  morning — you  wrote  you 
were  coming  on  official  matters,  you  remem- 
ber— but  you  are  all  the  more  welcome  here 
in  my  home.  These  hot  days  I  don't  go 

209 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

back  in  the  evenings.  I  like  to  loosen  up 
a  bit,  and  I  can  do  that  better,  physically 
and  mentally,  under  my  own  roof.  Sally 
and  the  girls  were  mightily  disappointed 
when  I  did  not  bring  you  up  to  dinner  with 
me — I  told  them  this  morning  I  was  expecting 
you." 

Bruce  explained  about  the  delay  on  the 
road,  and  the  older  man,  who  had  a  trick 
of  turning  up  the  ends  of  his  short  beard  and 
biting  at  them  between  his  words,  chuckled 
with  amusement. 

"Same  old  tupenny-hapenny  road,"  he 
said,  seating  himself  and  motioning  to  Bruce 
to  do  the  same.  "A  drummer  on  a  train 
with  me  one  day  swore  that  the  engineer  had 
orders  to  stop  once  at  every  single  house 
and  twice  at  every  double  house."  Then, 
as  his  guest  sat  silently  nerving  himself  to 
introduce  the  object  of  his  visit: — "How  like 
your  father  you  grow,  Bruce;  the  very  spit 
and  image  of  what  he  was  at  your  age.  You 
have  been  changing  in  looks,  haven't  you? 
Or  is  it  that  I  see  you  so  seldom  nowadays, 
I  forget  between  while  just  what  your  looks 

ri       r>» 

are  like  ? 

There  was  a  reproach  in  the  last  words 
that  Bruce  was  about  to  deprecate,  when  a 

210 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

door  opened,  admitting  a  colored  boy,  who 
bore  a  tray  on  which  stood  two  tall  glasses 
filled  with  cracked  ice  that  clinked  most 
refreshingly,  while  sprigs  of  aromatic  green 
rising  from  the  top  designated  the  variety 
of  the  liquid  contents. 

Taking  the  tray,  Governor  Redfern  offered 
one  of  these  glasses  to  his  guest  and  helped 
himself  to  the  other. 

"  And  how  are  you-all  at  home  ?"  he  inquired 
cordially,  as  the  two  sat  and  sipped  the  cold 
beverage;  "How's  your  wife,  and  Miss  Mary 
Joyce?  That  young  lady  was  a  great  belle 
when  she  was  here  in  the  winter.  She  is  a 
very  charming,  beautiful  young  woman,  that 
cousin- ward  of  yours,  Bruce.  Do  you  realize 
it?  When  you  were  younger,  my  wife  and 
I  used  to  romance  about  the  two  of  you 

but,  of  course,  that's  all  nonsense 

now.  My  girls  teased  Miss  Joyce  considerable 
about  a  sweetheart  of  hers  up  at  Hollywood, — 
that  young  lumberman  you've  got  up  there — 
David  Carroll.  I  have  not  seen  him  often, 
but  I've  always  thought  of  him  as  a  manly, 
intelligent  fellow  with  lots  of  executive  ability. 
Too  much  absorbed  in  business  to  run  with 
the  young  lazybones  of  this  section — not  in 
their  class  at  all — but  keen  as  a  blade  and 

211 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

honest  as  the  day  is  long,  if  I  am  any  judge  of 
character.  Do  you  know  what  a  rara  avis 
an  honest  business  man  has  become?  It 
ought  not  to  be  so, — it  need  not  be  so." 

'I  will  bear  your  words  in  mind  if  ever 
the  young  man  should  want  to  interview  me 
as  guardian  of  the  young  lady.  *  Praise  from 
Sir  Hubert  is,'  indeed,  valuable  endorsement. 
However,"  Bruce  continued  with  a  sigh,  "I 
have  no  reason  to  expect  that  he  will  ever 
ask  me  to  give  him  my  ward  and  my  blessing. 
I  reckon  you  made  too  much  of  Joyce  when 
she  was  here  with  you — gave  her  too  many 
new  notions  and  weaned  her  heart  away  from 
her  mountain  home.  Have  you  ever  met 
Carroll's  aunt,  Mrs.  Pritchett?" 

"Mrs.  E-Nora?  Yes,  I  have,"  replied 
the  Governor  with  a  laugh.  "I  heard  her 
tell  a  story  once,  too.  Ever  hear  her  tell 
a  story?  This  was  a  good  one.  We  were 
staying  at  the  Springs  for  a  few  days,  and 
one  evening  a  group,  of  which  she  was  a 
member,  sat  out  on  one  of  the  verandas,  and 
young  Prof.  Stebbins  of  the  university,  who 
was  there  at  the  time,  also,  kindly  discoursed 
to  us.  Stebbins  is  one  of  these  up-to-date 
educators  who  push  for  notoriety  by  denying 
and  deriding  all  the  faiths  of  the  centuries, 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

especially  religious  creeds,  and  he  was  riding 
his  hobby  in  great  shape  that  evening.  He 
asserted  that  there  had  never  been  a  case 
known  where  prayer  and  supplication  to  the 
Almighty  had  had  a  direct  answer — or  any 
answer  at  all,  and  he  followed  along  the  line 
of  argument  that  Old  Nick  used  with  Mother 
Eve  in  the  garden,  but  which  the  opinionated 
ass  evidently  regarded  as  the  spontaneous 
product  of  the  gray  matter  of  his  own  brain. 

"  Old  Dr.  Manning  of  Christ  Church,  Lex- 
ington, was  one  of  the  group,  and  I  reckon 
Prof.  Smarty  'lowed  to  get  a  rise  out  of  him 
directly,  but  the  Doc.  is  some  like  Brer 
Rabbit,  and  'he  lay  low.'  We  were  all 
getting  mighty  tired  and  uncomfortable,  when 
this  Mrs.  Pritchett  she  starts  in  telling  about 
the  woods  up  in  northern  Michigan  where 
she  was  raised,  and  I  thought  she  only  had 
in  mind  to  change  a  wearisome  subject. 
Well,  you  know  now  she  can  hold  your 
attention  when  she  talks?  She  just  kept  on 
and  on,  and  told  us  about  the  way  they  used 
to  manage  in  the  lumber  camps  up  there 
in  those  old  days — how  all  the  logs  cut  had 
to  be  hauled  out  of  the  woods  on  sledges, 
and  how  the  whole  business  depended  on 
the  snowfall. 

213 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"  One  winter  there  was  no  snow  up  to  the 
middle  of  January — which  was  most  unusual 
for  that  region — they  have  nine  months  of 
winter  and  three  of  late  in  the  fall  as  a  general 
thing — and  the  lumbermen  were  about  crazy. 
One  of  them  who  had  secured  a  big  note  by 
a  contract  for  that  season  was  plumb  desperate. 
He  tried  to  flood  the  roads  and  freeze  them, 
and  I  can't  recall  what  all.  One  day  when 
he  was  in  the  village  nearest  the  camps,  he 
chanced  to  run  across  the  missionary  of  that 
district — 'God's  gentle  man*  she  called  the 
clergyman,  and  in  his  coarse,  joking  way 
said  to  him :  '  I  suppose  if  I  would  hand  over 
a  big  donation  to  your  church,  parson,  you'd 
be  willing  to  say  a  prayer  for  snow,  wouldn't 
you  ?'  The  old  soldier  was  loyal  to  his  colors 
and  replied  that  while  the  church  had  no 
special  prayer  for  snow  in  her  liturgy,  if  the 
lumberman  would  come  to  the  next  service, 
he  could  make  his  petition  for  snow  while 
the  prayer  for '  all  things  needful*  was  repeated, 
and  the  man  agreed  to  do  this. 

"All  the  balance  of  that  week  the  lumber- 
man went  bragging  round  of  how  he  was  going 
to  meeting  on  Sunday,  and  shamelessly  assert- 
ing that  it  would  be  the  first  time  he  had  set 
foot  inside  a  church  door  since  his  wife's 

214 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

funeral.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  bet  on 
the  outcome  of  his  prayer,  with  his  old  cronies. 

"When  the  service  began  the  following 
Sunday  morning  he  was  in  one  of  the  pews 
and  sat  motionless  and  stolid  through  the 
ritual.  After  the  benediction  was  pronounced, 
he  got  up  and  hurried  forward  to  speak  to 
the  clergyman,  whom  he  found  closing  the 
outer  door  of  the  small  vestry  room,  and  said 
to  him:  'Well,  parson,  that  was  a  darned 
good  sermon  you  gave  us,  and  your  prayers 
were  O.K.  too.  I  just  sat  there  and  said 
snow,  snow — snow — over  a  million  times. 
I  thought  if  the  wires  were  busy  or  crossed 
and  I  didn't  get  the  connection  one  time, 
I  was  bound  to  another;  and  now  I  suppose 
you'll  want  me  to  sit  and  twiddle  my  thumbs 
waiting  for  the  return  message.' 

"  The  windows  of  the  building  were  all  of 
colored  glass  so  one  couldn't  see  through 
them,  but,  with  a  smile,  the  old  clergyman 
stepped  back  to  the  outer  door  of  the  room 
and  reopened  it  and  showed  the  steps  leading 
from  it  to  the  ground  already  white  with 
fast-falling  snow.  Well,  sir,  all  of  us  were 
fairly  stunned  by  this  climax.  Only  a  very 
callow  youth  had  the  temerity  to  ask — *And 
the  lumberman  was  converted  on  the  spot, 

215 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

wasn't  he?'  Mrs.  Pritchett's  expression  did 
not  vary  one  iota  from  what  it  had  been  all 
the  time  as  she  answered:  'He  said  as  he 
went  hot-foot  up  the  street,  that  if  he  had 
known  a  snowstorm  was  as  near  as  all  that, 
he'd  be  damned  if  he  would  have  wasted 
the  whole  morning  on  such  tomfoolery.' 
That  was  Dr.  Manning's  cue  and  he  took  it 
nobly:  'Neither  would  they  be  persuaded 
though  one  rose  from  the  dead,'  he  quoted 
in  that  mellow  voice  of  his,  and  somehow 
Stebbins  had  no  more  of  his  thinks  to  expound 
to  us  that  evening." 

Bruce  listened  with  what  patience  he  could 
to  this  long  story.  He  knew  of  old  how 
fond  his  host  was  of  repeating  any  story  he 
had  heard  that  had  impressed  him;  but 
his  restlessness  had  steadily  increased  until, 
when  the  Governor  ceased  speaking,  he 
broke  out  bluntly : 

"Governor  Redfern,  for  it  is  the  Governor 
I  am  here  to  see,  I  want  you  to  interest  your- 
self in  the  case  of  the  man  Judson  Tyree, 
who  is  now  over  yonder,"  with  a  gesture 
towards  the  penitentiary,  "under  sentence 
of  death." 

"Interest  myself?"  queried  the  older  man, 
his  grey  eyes,  that  had  twinkled  with  amuse- 

216 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

ment  during  his  long  recital,  growing  steely, 
and  his  whole  manner  hardening.  "  With 
what  end  in  view  ?" 

"  With  the  view  of  exercising  your  pre- 
rogative and  pardoning  the  man." 

The  Governor  bit  still  more  nervously  at 
the  stubble  of  his  beard,  but,  before  speaking, 
he  rose  and  carried  the  empty  glasses  to  the 
tray  which  he  had  placed  on  a  small  stand 
near  the  door.  On  returning  to  his  seat, 
he  asked  with  sharpness:  "Is  not  that  the 
case  where  you  acted  as  foreman  of  the  jury 
that  brought  in  a  verdict  of  guilt  ?" 

"It  is,"  answered  Bruce.  "I  was  the 
twelfth  juror,  and  that  was  our  verdict." 

His  hearer  seemed  bewildered  by  this 
frank  admission. 

"Knowing  you  as  I  do — as  I  think  I  do — 
I  shall  not  ask  if  that  was  your  own  voluntary 
decision,  reached  without  outside  influence 
or  coercion.  You  have,  then,  found  cause 
for  changing  it — indisputable  evidence  to  the 
contrary  has  come  to  your  knowledge?" 

"  Not — not  yet.     That  is,  nothing  definite." 

"But  you  feel  that,  if  given  time,  you  will 
find  facts  of  that  import  ?" 

"I— I  may." 

"Are  you  in  any  degree  confident  that  you 

217 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

will  ?  Have  you  a  reasonable  doubt  of  this 
condemned  man's  guilt  ?" 

"I  doubt  the  justice  of  capital  punishment 
for  any  crime." 

"Since  when?"  incredulously.  "But  that 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  status  of  the  case. 
The  law  prescribes  the  punishment.  What 
I  ask  you  is  this, — do — you — honestly — doubt 
— that — Judson  Tyree — committed — the  mur- 
der— for — which — he —  is —  condemned — by — 
the — law — to — die  ?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

The  Governor  was  baffled.  He  rose  and 
paced  the  length  of  the  room  back  and  forth. 
Once,  when  near  his  caller,  who  now  sat 
with  his  face  buried  in  his  arms,  he  hesitated 
and  put  out  his  hand  toward  one  of  the 
drooping  shoulders,  but  he  changed  his  mind 
and  strode  on.  Finally,  he  took  a  chair 
and  placed  it  in  front  of  Bruce,  sat  down 
on  it  and  faced  him. 

"Before  coming  to-day,  Mr.  Patterson,'* 
and  at  the  formality  of  the  address,  Bruce 
raised  his  head,  '  you  were  considerate 
enough  to  write  me  that  your  visit  would  be 
on  the  Executive — not  on  your  father's  life- 
long friend,  nor  on  the  man  who,  in  the  past, 
has  shown,  perhaps,  a  too  flattering  estimate 

218 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

of  your  aims  and  ambitions.  But  I  have 
not  altogether  allowed  you  to  ignore  our  old 
relations,  and  I  have  met  you  as  I  had  hoped 
always  to  meet  Hiram  Patterson's  son.  What 
has  persuaded  you  to  renounce  your  old 
comrades  and  to  deny  your  erstwhile  tenets, 
I  do  not  ask,  but  that  you  have  so  changed 
is  patent  to  all  those  men,  who,  when  you 
attained  your  majority,  lauded  your  self- 
dedication  to  the  cause  of  reform  and  gloried 
in  the  knowledge  that  your  father's  principles 
and  ideals  were  to  have  so  ardent  an  advocate. 
Bruce  Patterson,"  the  phrases  became  more 
rapid  and  the  tones  grew  clear, — "a  few 
years  ago  when  the  idea  was  first  presented 
to  me  that  I  act  as  leader  of  those  Kentuckians 
who  could  no  longer  passively  endure  the 
degrading  spectacle  of  a  commonwealth 
shackled  by  corruption  and  debauched  by 
greed,  I  was,  as  you  well  remember, 
averse  to  accepting  such  overwhelming  re- 
sponsibility— over  and  over  again,  I  declined 
to  do  so.  Later  on,  I  was  once  more  ap- 
proached, and  you  with  others  pledged  me 
your  support  during  the  campaign,  and  guaran- 
teed me  your  personal  co-operation  in  institut- 
ing the  reform  measures  we  all  longed  to  see 
introduced.  It  was  on  these  inducements 

219 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

and  promises  that  I  finally  agreed  to  yield 
my  own  personal  preferences  to  what  was 
pictured  to  me  as  the  public  welfare.  After 
a  hard  fight,  during  which  no  secret  was  made 
of  the  policy  I  intended  to  pursue  if  elected, 

we  won  the  victory." 

The  kindling  eyes  of  the  speaker  now  grew 
dull  and  his  whole  body  relaxed.  "No  sooner 
had  I  taken  the  oath  of  office  and  been  heralded 
far  and  wide  as  a  *  Reform  Governor,'  than 
I  commenced  to  discover  vacancies  in  the 
ranks  of  those  who  had  been  so  eager  to  follow 
my  banner.  To  you,  the  man  whose  heritage 
of  loyalty  to  the  highest  standards  of  states- 
manship, whose  tutelage  under  a  humani- 
tarian Durned  by  the  desire  to  uplift  his 
brothers,  I  looked  to  rally  these  faint-hearted 
deserters  and  to  hold  up  my  hands.  With 
implicit  faith  in  the  sincerity  of  your  repeated 
avowals,  I  have  called  on  you  for  your  aid, — 
not  once — but  again  and  again.  What  has 
been  your  response?  Excuses!  Excuses  of 
one  sort  and  another!  Excuses,  forsooth, 
as  varied  in  purport  as  those  offered  by  the 
invited  guests  in  the  old  parable.  The  out- 
come of  all  our  strenuous  preparations  for 
cleansing  the  temple  of  government  from  the 
corruption  that  has  converted  it  into  a  place  of 

220 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

barter,  for  healing  the  diseased  morality  of 
our  state,  is  that  the  'Reformer'  upon  whom 
you  helped  thrust  the  mantle  of  gubernatorial 
purple,  is  the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole 
nation.  Cartoonists  caricature  him,  yellow 
journals  spit  their  venom  at  him,  he  is  the 
butt  of  the  vaudeville  buffoon  and  of  the 
comic  paragrapher. 

**  When  I  heard  that  you  were  acting  as 
juror  in  this  mountain  murder  trial,  I  rejoiced, 
for  it  was  an  indication  that  a  spark  of  your 
old  intent  to  labor  for  changed  conditions 
in  your  native  hills  was  still  aglow.  I  felt 
as  if  that  trial  would  be  the  test  through 
which  it  would  be  shown  whether  justice 
had  been  banished  beyond  the  hope  of  recall. 
When  I  learned  that  a  verdict  had  been 
returned,  and  that,  at  last,  the  cold-blooded 
murder  of  a  government  official — that  one 
horrible  feature  of  the  Kentucky  mountain 
life  that  is  familiar  to  the  outer  world — was 
to  be  legally  avenged,  I  rejoiced  again,  know- 
ing that  be  the  wedge  never  so  insignificant 
in  itself,  if  persistently  hammered,  it  will, 
in  the  end,  accomplish  the  overthrow  of  a 
deep-rooted,  poisonous  growth.  And  now, 
Mr.  Patterson,  you  come  to  me  and  ask 
that  I  place  the  seal  of  the  Commonwealth 

221 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

on  the  lawlessness  that  is  rampant  in  our 
highlands;  that  I  personally  endorse  the 
barbarous  dictum  that  the  shot-gun  shall 
be  sole  arbiter  in  all  disputes  and  disagree- 
ments; that  I  subscribe  to  the  infinitesimal 
value  that  the  men  of  the  mountains  give 
to  human  life.  You  come  to  me  with  the 
request  that  I  set  at  naught  the  law  that  I 
am  under  oath  to  maintain,  and,  as  a  favor 
to  you, — that  is  it,  is  it  not? — pardon  this 
man,  Judson  Tyree — duly  condemned  to  hang 
after  a  fair  and  impartial  trial. 

"  It  is  almost  impossible  for  me  to  bring  my- 
self to  believe  that  it  is  you,  who  now  ask 
this  of  me — I  simply  cannot  believe  it  is 
the  man  whom  I  once  knew  well.  Pitiful 
as  such  a  supposition  is,  it  is  less  harrow- 
ing to  think  that  your  will  is  in  thrall 
to  that  of  another — that  your  individuality 
lies  dormant  under  the  influence  of  a  mental 
narcotic.  But,  whether  this  surmise  be  right 

or  wrong you  have  asked  your 

question,  Mr.  Patterson,"  a  tightly  clenched 
nst  striking  the  heavy  table  by  which  the 
men  sat,  punctuated  the  words, — "and  my 
answer  is  no!" 

Bruce's  white,  drawn  face  dropped  back 
upon  his  arms,  and  he  sat  motionless  while 

222 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  Governor  continued  to  speak  as  though 
in  self  commune:  "Freedom  of  will,  un- 
shackled individuality,  is  the  birthright  of 
each  son  of  man,  and  he  who  barters  that 
priceless  gift  is  an  Esau.  '  To  thine  own  self 
be  true  and  it  will  follow,  thou  canst  not  then 
be  false  to  any  man.'  Shakespeare  sounded 
human  character  to  its  depths — '  to  thine  own 
self  be  true — to  thine  own  self!'  ' 

The  ticking  of  a  large  clock  above  the  desk 
and  the  rasping  cries  of  the  locusts  in  the 
trees  without  were  all  that  broke  the  silence 
for  many  moments.  Then  Bruce  lifted  his 
head,  rose,  and  left  the  room  without  attempt- 
ing a  spoken  farewell.  The  Governor  made 
no  effort  to  arrest  his  departure,  but  as  the 
young  man,  his  features  haggard  and  his 
limbs  twitching,  stumbled  down  the  outside 
steps,  he  was  followed  through  the  hallway, 
and  a  husky,  hardly  audible  voice  tried  twice 
to  call  his  name,  as  he  strode  into  the  street. 

Then  the  Governor  leaned  heavily  against 
the  massive  door-frame,  weak  from  the  hot 
anger  that  had  now  burned  itself  out  to  a 
poignant  regret,  ready  to  beckon  and  to 
relent  if  Bruce  should  but  glance  back; 
but  the  tall  figure  reached  the  corner,  turned, 
and  passed  on  out  of  sight. 

223 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  exigency  that  had  forced  David  Carroll 
to  abandon  his  unfinished  studies  and  assume 
control  of  a  rapidly  enlarging  business  enter- 
prise, had,  perhaps,  served  to  blight  the 
normal  development  of  the  romantic  and 
aesthetic  elements  of  his  character.  He 
had  never  shown  much  sympathy  with  the 
dreamers  of  the  world  and  none  at  all  for  the 
troubadors  and  the  minstrels,  the  Pantalons 
and  the  Jeremy  Diddlers,  whose  claim  to 
recognition  in  the  scheme  of  existence  seemed 
to  him  based  on  an  untenable  premise.  He 
had  exaggerated  views  of  the  dignity  of  man- 
hood and  the  accountability  of  each  soul, 
and  to  waste  time  over  the  evanescent  seemed 
to  him  more  shortsighted  than  to  squander 
money  in  trivial  pursuits,  for  the  money 
might  be  re-acquired  by  subsequent  effort, 
but  the  time  was  lost  forever. 

On  one  occasion  he  had  been  obliged  to 
introduce  one  of  the  professors  of  his  alma 
mater  (who  was  traveling  through  the  South 
in  the  interest  of  modern  methods  of  education) 
to  a  room  full  of  school  children,  to  whom 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

was  delivered  an  address  on  the  day  of  knight- 
hood, which  was  eloquently  portrayed  as 
the  period  of  the  world's  prime.  At  the 
conclusion  of  the  lecture,  the  principal  of 
the  school,  eager  to  illustrate  the  close  con- 
centration to  the  subject  in  hand  that  had 
been  inculcated  in  her  pupils,  asked  that 
some  of  the  children  state  in  their  own  language 
just  what  they  understood  by  the  vocation 
of  the  knight — just  what  it  was  he  did.  On 
the  instant  a  boy,  flushed  with  excitement 
and  enthusiasm  over  what  the  professor  had 
said,  rose  to  his  feet  and  replied  that  the 
"knights  fought — and  killed!"  Rather  non- 
plussed by  this  gory  synopsis,  the  teacher 
expostulated:  "Oh,  but  did  they  not 
do  something  nobler  than  that?"  A  Miss 
Miminy-Pimmy  in  one  of  the  back  rows — 
who  had  her  little  ways  for  taking  the  mental 
temperature  of  "teacher"  and  acting  accord- 
ingly, raised  her  hand,  and  said  with  the 
accent  of  the  goody-goody  that  the  "knights 
tried  to  behave  theirse'ves."  David  never 
quite  comprehended  the  spasms  of  mirth 
that  convulsed  his  old  professor  whenever 
this  novel  summary  of  knightly  attributes 
recurred  to  him.  To  young  Carroll,  it  was 
much  more  manly  to  "  try  to  behave  one's  self," 

225 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

than  to  go  over  the  land,  armed  cap-a-pie, 
engaging  in  miscellaneous  combat,  or  riding 
atilt  at  windmills. 

When  his  affection  for  Joyce  Patterson 
kindled  into  something  warmer  than  a  big 
boy's  patronizing  interest  in  a  pretty  child, 
he  frankly  arranged  his  work  so  as  to  be  able 
to  spend  more  of  his  time  in  her  society, 
and  as  she  showed  no  displeasure  at  his 
constant  companionship,  he  took  it  for  granted 
that  her  feeling  for  him  was  akin  to  his  for 
her.  He  did  not  dream  that  beneath  her 
smiling  graciousness  lurked  a  growing  resent- 
ment of  his  matter-of-course  appropriation 
of  the  favor  he  should  have  been  ready  to 
overturn  heaven  and  earth  to  win.  A  most 
painful  surprise  overtook  him  when  the  young 
lady  not  only  vanished  from  Hollywood, 
but  from  his  life  almost  entirely.  Her  un- 
expected action  caused  great  grief  to  him, 
which  he  sought  to  assuage  by  a  still  closer 
attention  to  the  details  of  his  commercial 
affairs,  and  in  the  furtherance  of  his  scheme 
to  establish  a  club-room  for  his  employees. 
As  in  many  a  like  case,  philanthropy  was 
the  plaster  applied  to  the  pangs  of  wounded 
love. 

When  Joyce  finally  returned  to  her  home, 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

followed  by  so  many  of  her  new  friends, 
David  felt  himself  entirely  excluded  from 
the  circle  of  care-free  "frivolers,"  as  he  bitterly 
termed  them,  in  which  the  girl  so  naturally 
took  a  place, — and,  without  a  word  or  sign 
of  his  disappointment,  he  buried  his  fond 
hopes,  thinking  them  wounded  beyond  pos- 
sible revival. 

What  his  Aunt  Nora  told  him,  the  evening 
after  her  trip  to  the  Kendricks',  as  to  Joyce's 
unhappiness,  acted  as  a  restorative;  or,  at 
least,  compelled  him  to  admit  that  the 
dreary  months  of  separation  and  misunder- 
standing, far  from  killing  his  affection,  had 
only  made  it  the  deeper  and  stronger.  He 
longed  to  hasten  out  and  dry  the  tears  of 
which  his  aunt  had  spoken.  Tears  and  Joyce  ? 
He  could  scarcely  credit  the  tale!  However, 
the  rebuff  of  the  previous  fall  warned  him 
against  any  such  precipitate  action.  He  no 
longer  felt  cocksure  of  his  ability  to  perform 
so  tender  a  service  acceptably;  but — he  was 
not  going  to  have  BOD  Pritchett  coming 
down  and  essaying  it ! 

For  a  few  days  after  Mrs.  E-Nora  gave 
him  her  promise  in  regard  to  postponing  the 
invitation  to  her  northern  nephew,  poor 
David's  heart  vacillated  between  reviving 

227 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

hope  and  returning  doubt,  and  he  decided  to 
wait  until  after  Baity  Treadway's  wedding, 
which  was  to  take  place  a  few  days  later, 
before  he  made  any  plans  to  discover  whether 
Joyce's  heart  was  still  in  the  highlands  or  no. 

Baity 's  wedding  would,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, have  been  a  marked  occasion 
in  the  annals  of  the  neighborhood,  for  both 
she  and  Jim  Morgan,  her  fiance,  belonged 
to  the  most  highly  respected  and  financially 
substantial  of  the  mountain  families.  Under 
Joyce's  loving  and  tireless  supervision,  the 
festivities  assumed  proportions  and  an  elabora- 
tion of  detail  far  beyond  what  had  ever  been 
known  in  the  social  history  of  the  locality. 
The  small,  shabby  school-house,  which  also 
answered  for  a  church  when  the  itinerant 
missionary  made  his  rounds,  and  in  which 
the  ceremony  was  to  be  performed,  was 
converted  into  a  woodland  bower  by  a  decora- 
tive combination  of  sumach,  ferns  and  flowers. 
The  path  leading  from  the  Treadway  home- 
stead to  the  steps  of  this  building  was  fenced 
by  flags  and  brilliant  banners  floating  from 
tall  poles,  which  were  connected  by  long 
garlands  of  green. 

Aunt  Philomee  was  cajoled  into  baking 
the  elaborate  wedding-cake  for  the  supper 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

that  was  to  follow  the  six  o'clock  ceremony. 
The  old  negress  grumbled  and  grunted  as 
was  her  wont,  while  she  stirred  the  rich 
ingredients  in  her  largest  mixing-bowl,  though 
there  was  no  sympathetic  ear  to  listen  to  her 
woe,  for  she  had  cleared  the  kitchen  before 
commencing  her  mystic  compound.  Had  a 
spectator  been  admitted  he  might  have  been 
surprised  to  see  that  only  one  half  the  dough 
was  poured  into  the  buttered  and  papered 
baking  pan,  which  Joyce  herself  had  pre- 
pared; to  the  other  portion  more  fruit,  more 
liquor  and  more  spice  were  added,  and  a 
mumbo- jumbo  of  some  sort  was  recited  over 
it,  as  well  as  the  simpler  loaf,  before  both 
were  set  into  the  oven. 

"Fraish  weddin'-cake !"  sniffed  the  skilled 
caterer.  "It  may  be  good  'nough  fo'  pore 
white  trash,  but  it  ain'  gwine  do  fo'  a  Patte'son. 
I'll  jes'  hab  one  ready  when  Miss  Ma'y 
Joyce's  tu'n  come  erlong — hit  boun'  to  come 
turrectly.  I  done  said  a  chawm  ove'  bof  o' 
dese  yere  cakes,  'cause  I  kinda  'spec'  hit 
'ud  be  bes'  fo'  me  ef  she  done  ma'y  Marse 
Dave  Carroll.  Den  she  stay  right  heah, 
an'  I  gwine  stay  wif  she.  Mis'  Patte'son, 
she  gwine  keep  on  a-hectorin'  pore  Marse 
Bruce  now,  twell  she  git  him  to  go  back 

229 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

erlong  er  he'  to  whar  she  done  come  fum, 
an'  ef  Miss  Ma'y  Joyce  move  he' self  outer 
heah,  too,  whar  I  gwine  be  lef  ?  So  I 
done  cunjuh  dat  bride-cake  good,  an*  now 
we-alls  gwine  see  what  happen  ef  she  try  to 
go  'way." 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  wedding-day 
that  Bruce  started  off  for  his  interview  with 
Governor  Redfern.  There  had  been  an  un- 
mistakable change  in  the  manner  of  some 
of  his  neighbors  to  him  since  the  trial,  and, 
in  his  present  mood,  the  very  thought  of  min- 
gling with  those  who  misjudged  him,  of  taking 
part  in  scenes  of  joy,  when  his  whole  nature 
was  in  revolt  at  existing  conditions,  was 
exquisite  torture.  Letitia,  also,  had  declared 
that  weddings  always  bored  her  beyond 
endurance,  and  had  excused  herself  from 
attending,  and  sent  her  gracious  wishes  and 
congratulations  with  a  gift  of  delicate  china. 
But  Joyce  was  "the  whole  thing,"  as  one  of 
the  kin  from  "outside"  boisterously  expressed 
it.  Against  her  Cousin  Letitia's  expostula- 
tions, she  was  clad  in  the  most  beautiful 
of  her  gowns,  a  soft  white  crepe  heavy  with 
elaborate  embroidery.  On  the  coiled  masses 
of  her  curly  locks  rested  a  wreath  of  pale 
pink  blossoms,  and  on  one  arm,  as  she  pre- 
230 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

ceded  the  bride  up  the  narrow  aisle  of  the 
school-room,  she  bore  a  loose  mass  of  the 
same  flowers.  Her  neck  and  arms  showed 
round  and  white  through  the  filmy  lace 
that  but  partially  veiled  them,  and  about 
her  throat  she  had  clasped  two  strands  of 
her  mother's  pearls. 

The  eyes  of  all  who  were  crowded  within 
the  small  room  were  riveted  upon  her  when 
she  advanced,  and  David,  wno,  with  the 
groom,  stood  waiting  in  front  of  the  improvised 
altar,  caught  his  breath  as  he  saw  her 
moving  towards  him.  Her  surpassing  loveli- 
ness fairly  stunned  him,  and  he  felt  himself 
grow  numb  and  cold.  How  could  he  have 
dreamed  that  she  would  ever  care  for  him? 
Why,  this  transcendent  maiden  was  the  mate 
for  a  prince ! 

When  the  short  rite  was  over  and  the 
bridal  procession,  led  by  a  quartette  of  small 
cousins,  who  scattered  flower  petals  and 
giggles  impartially  as  they  marched,  wended 
its  riotous  way  along  the  same  path  that  all 
of  them  had  many  times  traversed  in  their 
school  days,  David,  as  custom  prescribed, 
took  his  place  beside  the  maid  of  honor, 
outwardly  as  calm  and  collected  as  ever, 
but  within  him  there  burned  new,  strange 

231 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

fires.  With  every  step,  he  fought  against 
a  wild  impulse  to  throw  himself  before  those 
little  feet  that  "peeped  in  and  out"  of  the 
silken  skirts,  and  to  raise  the  hem  of  her 
draperies  to  his  lips  in  mute  adoration. 
He !— who  had  always  scoffed  at  the  ridiculous 
notion  of  any  man  kneeling  before  any  woman ! 

During  the  short  hours  that  followed, 
hours  in  which  all  the  Treadway  and  Morgan 
kin  frolicked  and  joked  and  ate,  he  had  no 
eyes,  no  thoughts  save  for  Joyce,  who  led 
the  games,  laughed  at  the  jokes  and  was 
the  soul  of  the  entire  assemblage.  In  a  lull 
between  games,  old  Gran'pap,  who,  also, 
had  watched  the  honor  maia  rather  wistfully, 
called  her  to  his  side  and  said  with  pathos: 

"I  ben  'lowin'  to  'tend  yore  weddin', 
honey;  don't  yo'  be  a-puttin'  hit  off  too  long." 

"Oh,  but  I  am  never  going  to  marry, 
Mr.  Treadway,"  Joyce  responded  gaily,  taking 
the  feeble  old  hand  he  extended  to  her  in 
both  her  own.  "I  am  going  to  be  an  old 
maid." 

The  patriarch  looked  up  into  the  bright 
face  bending  over  him,  and  a  gleam  of  vanished 
youth  flashed  into  his  eyes.  "I  wisht  I 
could  hev  the  chanct  to  change  yore  mind 
fo*  yo*,"  he  said  vehemently.  "Ef  I  was 

232 


The  Twelfth  Jurvr 

on'y  a  few  years  younger  than  I  be,  I'd  hev* 
a  try  fo'  yo'  yit,  ef  I  died  a-tryin' — derned 
ef  I  wouldn't!" 

The  great-grandson  who  had  distinguished 
himself  by  kissing  Joyce  on  the  day  of  her 
visit,  and  whom  she  had  constituted  her 
special  cavalier  for  this  evening  by  pinning 
one  of  her  pink  flowers  on  his  coat,  now 
spoke  out  bravely,  and  in  disregard  of  the 
jeers  and  laughter  of  his  many  boy  cousins: 

"Don't  yo'  be  a-worrittin'  'bout  her  bein' 
ary  oF  maid,  Gran'pap.  She  kin  hev  me, 
sure,  ef  she'll  wait  till  I  gits  my  growth." 

Zulemmy  Tyree,  in  a  white  gown,  with  a 
red  bow  flaming  up  from  her  dusky  hair 
like  a  liberty  cap,  and  a  red  sash,  only  needed 
a  drapery  of  flags  to  be  the  Goddess  of  Liberty 
to  whom  Aunt  Philomee  had  likened  her. 
She  and  the  "contrairy"  Ula  Bell  and  Noc 
had  formed  one  group  among  the  spectators 
at  the  school-house,  and  had  followed  in  the 
bridal  train  to  the  homestead,  Zulemmy 
profuse  in  her  offers  to  help  Balty's  mother 
serve  the  supper,  but  with  a  wistful  eye  on 
the  merry  throng  that  had  collected  under 
the  trees  in  the  yard.  Mrs.  Pritchett,  who 
had  consented  to  let  David  drive  her  out 
for  the  occasion,  caught  this  glance,  and 

233 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

hurried  in  to  insist  that  she  could  do  am 
that  was  needed  by  the  band  of  bustling  nouse- 
wives  now  preparing  to  wait  on  the  guests, 
and  that  Zulemmy  must  go  out  and  join  in 
the  fun.  "She's  young,  you  know,"  she  said 
in  excuse  of  her  action  to  those  who  stood 
near  her. 

"I  sure  wish  she  wasn't,"  said  one  of  the 
women,  pursing  her  lips  and  tossing  her  head 
in  unspoken  criticism,  while  she  watched 
Zulemmy's  color  heighten,  and  her  eyes  and 
lips  grow  more  mischievous  and  alluring  as 
she  flitted  about  among  the  wedding  guests. 

One  cloud  hung  in  the  bright  sky  of  Tread- 
way  felicity  that  evening  and  that  was  the 
absence  of  Bill,  who,  hitherto,  had  always 
been  the  leader  in  the  family  amusements. 
He  had  been  drinking  steadily  now  for  days, 
and  sodden  and  besotted  as  he  had  become, 
he  had  himself  appreciated  what  a  kill-joy 
he  would  be  at  this  festal  gathering  of  the 
clans,  and  had  betaken  himself  from  home. 
David  made  an  opportunity  to  inquire  of 
one  of  his  brothers  in  regard  to  his  condition 
and  to  express  the  fear  that  Bill  had  some 
evil  purpose  on  his  mind. 

"Ho!"  exclaimed  this  more  sound  limb 
of  the  old  family  tree,  "  don't  yo'  be  a-thinkin' 

234 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

that-a-way.  Billy  ain't  got  spirit  'nough  lef 
now  to  harm  a  flea,  an*  I'm  a-hopin'  he  ain't 
got  spirits  'nough  lef  to  drownd  one,"  with 
a  chuckle  at  his  joke.  "I  was  some  skeert 
of  what  he  mought  have  hit  in  his  head  to 
do  at  first,  but  he's  too  blin'  drunk  now  to 
do  ary  thing." 

Bedtime  comes  early  in  the  mountains, 
and  before  nine  o'clock  the  guests  began  to 
take  their  departure,  while  in  a  room  upstairs 
Baity  and  Joyce  were  changing  their  light 
gowns  for  the  ride  to  Hollywood.  With 
reverent  hands  the  two  friends  folded  the  long 
bridal  veil  and  laid  it  aside,  and  then  the 
young  wife  threw  her  arms  around  her  maid 
and  hugged  her  close. 

"I'll  sure  never  forget  what  you  done 
for  us  to-day,  honey,"  she  said  haltingly. 
"It's  all  been  just  too  lovely,"  catching 
at  a  phrase  she  had  heard  Joyce  use  frequently. 
"I  just  ain't  got  words  to  thank  you,  but 
when  your  turn  comes ' 

"But  I  am  going  to  be  an  old  maid,  I  tell 
you,"  repeated  Joyce  between  laughter  and 
tears. 

"  Don't  you  be  a-talkin'  ary  such  nonsense," 
commanded  Baity,  who  had  watched  David 
Carroll's  face  during  the  evening,  and  who  had 

235 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

already  guessed  what  the  situation  between 
the  two  was.  Drawing  the  girl  still  closer, 
she  whispered  in  the  ear  nearest  her:  "He's 
a  powerful  fine  man,  Mary  Joyce.  He's 
give  Jim  twenty-five  shares  of  stock  in  the 
Company  for  a  wedding  gift.  Think  of  that! 
We  will  be  partners  of  his,"  with  a  touch 
of  new  dignity.  "He  'lows  to  let  ary  of  the 
men  that  wants  to  and  can  save  the  money 
buy  the  stock,  but  he  just  up  and  give  it  to 
Jim  point  blank." 

As  the  two  in  their  dark  clothing  were 
seen  coming  down  the  stairs,  Mrs.  Pritchett 
called  to  Baity  who  held  her  bridal  flowers 
in  one  hand : 

"You'd  ought  to  toss  your  bouquet  up, 
Mrs.  Morgan,  and  let  us  find  out  who  is  to 
be  the  next  bride." 

"  Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Pritchett,"  Joyce  said  with 
haste,  knowing  that  the  "real  boughten  bou- 
quet" that  the  groom  had  ordered  sent  down 
from  Lexington  was  of  priceless  value  in 
the  bride's  eyes,  "I  know  I  would  not  get 
it — I'm  such  a  poor  catch." 

There  was  another  chorus  of  joking  remon- 
strance, amid  which  all  started  for  the  bars 
where  the  horses  awaited  those  who  were 
going  to  the  village.  David  assisted  all 

236 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  women  to  mount,  bodily  lifting  Baity 
to  her  seat  behind  her  Jim  on  a  horse  whose 
head  was  ornamented  with  huge  white  paper 
rosettes.  When  Joyce's  turn  came,  he  ex- 
tended his  hand,  and  like  a  flash  her  foot 
had  touched  it  and  she  was  in  her  saddle. 
Then  accompanied  by  a  shower  of  old  shoes, 
by  farewell  wishes  for  prosperity  in  its  highest 
degree  and  by  some  rather  broad  prophecies, 
all  started  off,  followed  on  foot  to  the  turn 
of  the  road  by  the  younger  and  less  tirable 
of  the  joy  makers. 

Before  Bill's  cottage,  from  which  a  light 
again  shone,  Joyce  turned  her  head  to  look 
back  at  the  dark  figure  driving  the  cart 
just  behind  her.  She  wondered  how  she 
could  so  have  mistrusted  him  even  for  a 
moment.  The  events  of  the  day  had  made 
her  tender  heart  more  tender,  and  the  generous 
thoughtfulness  for  the  future  welfare  of  his 
men,  of  which  she  had  just  been  told,  added 
its  weight  to  her  estimate  of  his  character. 
She  colored  hotly  as  she  realized  that  she 
was  holding  her  rein  very  tight,  so  that  she 
should  not  outdistance  the  cart,  which,  owing 
to  the  fact  of  Mrs.  Pritchett's  presence  therein, 
had  to  be  driven  with  the  utmost  care. 

Just  before  the  Patterson  place  was  reached, 

237 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  bride  and  groom  held  a  whispered  con- 
ference, Baity  speaking  with  great  earnestness 
and  Jim  responding  with  fond  good-humor. 
At  the  gate,  David  thrust  the  reins  into  his 
aunt's  hands,  in  spite  of  her  remonstrance, 
and  sprang  to  the  ground,  feeling  for  Joyce's 
bridle  in  the  dark  that  surrounded  them, 
and  leading  her  faithful  horse  into  the  yard 
as  if  there  were  great  fear  of  his  making  a 
misstep.  As  they  reached  the  steps  of  the 
house,  Baity  suddenly  called  from  the  road, 
"Ketch!"  and  a  dark  object  came  hurtling 
through  the  air  toward  Joyce,  whom  David 
had  just  lifted  to  the  porch.  Instinctively 
he  put  out  his  arm  to  protect  her,  and  as  she 
extended  her  hands  at  the  same  moment 
their  fingers  touched  and  clasped  as  the  bridal 
bouquet  struck  them. 

"  Did  yo'  get  it  ?"  called  Balty's  voice  a 
few  seconds  later. 

"Y-yes,"  stammered  Joyce,  thrilled  by 
the  touch  of  those  strong  fingers,  "I — we — 
we  caught  it,  Baity." 

Before  David  in  his  excitement  had  suc- 
ceeded in  unlocking  and  opening  the  door, 
however,  his  companion  had  regained  her 
presence  of  mind  and  her  accustomed  manner. 
As  the  dim  light  from  within  fell  upon  her, 

238 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

she  pulled  one  of  the  flowers  from  the  bunch, 
and  with  her  most  winning  smile  laid  it  in 
his  palm.  "That  is  your  fee  for  helping 
me  catch  it,"  she  said,  her  dimples  coming 
and  going  coquettishly,  "your  commission, 
or  whatever  the  matrimonial  agencies  call 
their  charge.  Now  that  I  have  this,"  holding 
the  bouquet  forward  and  bending  her  head 
to  smell  of  it,  "I  am  sure  to  be  a  bride, — 
some  day." 

The  young  man  could  not  have  told  how 
he  found  his  way  back  to  the  waiting  cart, 
but  all  the  rest  of  the  way  to  his  home  he  had 
no  opportunity  to  study  the  meaning  of 
Joyce's  words,  for  Mrs.  Pritchett,  in  agonies 
of  fear  lest  their  wheels  slip  over  the  edge  of 
the  ravine  or  some  other  dire  accident  occur, 
claimed  all  his  attention.  When  they  were 
at  last  within  their  own  door,  and  that  good 
lady  had  taken  herself  off  to  her  room,  vowing 
that  nothing  could  induce  her  to  so  imperil 
her  neck  again,  David  sat  down  and  looked 
at  the  flower  that  Joyce  had  so  mockingly 
bestowed  upon  him.  He  wished  that  he 
knew  how  to  interpret  the  actions  and  moods 
of  a  girl;  he  wished  that  he  could  prove  to 
this  one  girl  what  she  had  become  to  him. 
Ah!  at  last  he  could  guess  why  the  knights 

239 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

of  old  had  been  ready  to  buckle  on  their 
armor  and  fight  to  the  death  for  the  favor 
of  the  ladies  of  their  love! 

After  all,  to  merely  "  try  to  behave  one's  self" 
was  not  the  acme  of  human  achievement. 
He  had  hitherto  held  in  contempt  the  men, 
who,  according  to  the  old  romancers,  could 
haunt  the  neighborhood  wherein  their  sweet- 
hearts dwelt,  hoping  to  catch  a  swift  smile, 
to  watch  a  light  behind  a  certain  window, 
to  gloat  over  a  shadow  flitting  across  a  curtain 
— but  it  was  only  by  the  grimmest  determina- 
tion that  he  could  now  prevent  himself  from 
riding  back  to  the  Patterson  home,  there  to 
throw  himself  on  the  ground  beneath  the 
room  in  which  Joyce  slumbered,  and  to 
babble  to  the  moon  and  stars  of  his  love  for 
her. 


240 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"You  look  about  tuckered  out,  David," 
said  Mrs.  E-Nora  to  her  nephew  the  next 
morning,  "  and  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  through 
a  siege.  Better  stay  at  home  and  keep  quiet 
today.  Your  head  aches,  I  can  tell  that.' 

David  acknowledged  that  he  was  not  in 
his  usual  perfect  health,  but  stated  that  with 
Bill  Tread  way  and  Jim  Morgan  both  away 
from  the  mill,  he  must  be  at  his  post. 

"I'll  try  and  make  it  a  short  day,  Aunt 
Nora,"  he  concluded,  seeing  how  anxious 
she  appeared,  "but  there  is  really  nothing 
the  matter  except  that  I  spent  a  restless 
night." 

"You  eat  some  of  that  bride-cake,"  said 
Mrs.  Pritchett  condemningly.  "When  the 
old  foolkiller  gets  round,  that  article  is  going 
to  be  cut  off  the  list  of  victuals  for  Christian 
stomachs — a  mess  of  raw  dough  and  mummy- 
fied  fruit  and  co/ic/" 

The  hands  of  the  clock  in  the  office  of  the 
Carroll  lumber-yards  had  never  moved  so 
slowly,  according  to  one  who  impatiently 
watched  them,  as  they  did  that  day,  and 

241 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

when,  soon  after  noon,  a  heavy  shower 
cooled  the  air  and  laid  the  dust,  David  no 
longer  tried  to  resist  his  desire  to  ride  out  to 
the  Patterson  home.  Though  midsummer, 
the  grey  air  had  a  tonic  freshness  after  the 
rain,  and  the  river  ran  turgid  and  muddy. 
As  he  passed  along  its  banks,  it  was  with 
unseeing  eyes  that  he  gazed  upon  the  logs 
bumping  about  near  the  old  dam.  There 
was  a  strong  current  (or  "tide"  as  it  is  called 
locally)  in  the  water,  and  some  of  the  more 
adventuresome  raftsmen  would,  in  all  prob- 
ability, attempt  to  float  down  from  the  higher 
lands;  but  even  this  possibility,  which  ordin- 
arily would  have  engrossed  the  interest  of 
the  young  lumberman,  found  no  place  in 
his  thoughts  now.  As  he  neared  the  point 
at  which  the  road  to  the  Patterson  acres 
branched  from  the  river  road,  he  drew  rein 
and  hesitated,  then  moved  slowly  on  beside 
the  water.  Meh  Lady  came  barking  and 
galumphing  down  the  slope  of  the  mountain 
at  sight  of  the  horse  and  rider,  her  sharp 
yelps  changing  to  woofs  of  recognition  as 
she  leaped  and  bounded  beside  him.  He 
could  catch  but  a  glimpse  of  the  house, 
and  of  a  corner  of  Aunt  Philomee's  gay 
bandana-turban  bobbing  up  and  down  inside 

242 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  kitchen  window. 

Again  he  halted  and  played  with  Meh  Lady, 
irresolute  as  to  what  nis  next  move  should 
be.  He  longed  for  the  sight  of  Joyce,  yet 
he  hardly  knew  how  to  account  for  his  appear- 
ance here  at  so  unusual  an  hour.  At  last, 
after  ordering  the  dog  back  to  her  home, 
he  rode  on  in  an  undecision  that  was  as  foreign 
to  him  as  the  other  emotions  which  had 
controlled  him  for  twenty-four  hours.  A 
mile  or  more  further  on,  his  features  suddenly 
lighted,  and  he  urged  his  horse  towards 
a  definite  objective  point  that  he  now  had 
in  mind.  After  a  time  he  came  to  an  old, 
overgrown  wagon  track  that  led  away  from 
the  main  road,  and  turning  into  it,  continued 
to  press  forward  under  trees  whose  low, 
overhanging  boughs  swept  their  wet  leaves 
across  his  face,  and  through  underbrush 
that,  long  undisturbed,  had  grown  rank 
and  tangled.  His  mind  ran  back  to  a  day 
in  the  previous  autumn,  when  he  and  Joyce 
had  ridden  through  a  new  clearing  in  the 
forest,  and  had  unexpectedly  come  upon 
this  abandoned  path.  In  idle  curiosity  they 
had  followed  to  its  end,  where,  on  a  small 
plateau  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  prepara- 
tions had  at  one  time  been  made  for  the 

243 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

erection  of  a  home.  All  that  had  ever  been 
completed  of  the  building  was  the  two  massive 
stone  chimneys,  that  now  stood  like  monu- 
ments of  frustrated  hopes  and  purposes. 

In  his  memory  the  young  man  could  again 
see  Joyce  springing  from  her  horse,  when 
they  had  penetrated  to  this  spot,  and  fluttering 
hither  and  yon  in  pursuit  of  some  clew  to 
the  meaning  of  this  pathetic  record  of  fruitless 
designs.  How  enraptured  she  had  become 
over  the  charm  of  the  environment!  A  more 
gracious  quality  in  her  words  and  manner 
that  day  had  encouraged  David  to  believe 
that  she  was  learning  to  care  for  him  as  he 
knew  he  cared  for  her,  and  in  the  weeks 
immediately  succeeding  their  discovery  of 
this  hidden  nook,  he  had,  in  his  uncommunica- 
tive way,  used  every  means  in  his  power  for 
ferreting  out  the  owner  of  the  tract.  When 
found,  young  Carroll  at  once  entered  into 
negotiations  with  him,  and  finally  was  able 
to  make  the  purchase,  though  at  a  figure 
far  above  the  appraised  value  of  real  estate 
in  that  location.  Before  all  the  legal  require- 
ments for  the  transfer  of  the  title  were 
complied  with,  Joyce,  strangely  formal  and 
distant,  had  left  her  home  for  her  long  visit 
in  the  Blue  Grass  cities,  and  in  the  gaieties 

244 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

of  the  gubernatorial  mansion  and  other  homes 
of  less  public  prominence,  had  apparently 
lost  all  interest  in  the  simple  lives  of  her 
mountain  friends.  Had  it  not  been  for  Mrs. 
Pritchett's  reference  to  the  girl's  unhappy 
moments,  David  might  never  have  pushed 
his  horse  through  the  old  road  again — for 
he  was  abnormally  sensitive  to  the  folly  of 
his  premature  action  in  regard  to  this  land. 

But  if  Joyce  had  her  moments  of  dis- 
satisfaction, if  she,  too,  was  learning  that 
life  is  not  all  a  revel,  might  she  not,  in  some 
measure,  be  consoled  by  the  knowledge, 
that  come  weal  or  come  woe — should  new 
friends  prove  kind  or  false,  one  friend  would 
ever  be  true,  one  heart  would  beat  for  her 
alone  ? 

While  these  sentiments  ran  riot  through 
his  rider's  brain,  David's  horse  had  slowly 
moved  along,  pausing  now  and  again  to  nibble 
at  the  grass  that  had  obliterated  the  wheel- 
marks  that  had  in  the  past  been  furrowed 
into  this  soil.  Suddenly,  however,  the  animal 
lifted  its  head  and  gave  a  low  whinny,  and 
the  young  man,  roused  from  his  bitter-sweet 
reflections,  caught  a  flutter  of  bright  color 
in  the  dense  leafage  of  the  forest  beyond  him, 
and  an  instant  later  had  made  the  discovery 

245 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

that  the  other  visitor  to  this  spot  was  Joyce 
herself. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Patterson,"  he  called 
out  to  her  gaily,  though  his  heart  was 
beating  a  wild  tattoo  against  his  side. 

The  young  girl  glanced  back  over  her 
shoulder,  and  after  returning  the  greeting, 
looked  nervously  around  as  if  hunting  for 
some  exit. 

David's  lips  set  with  all  the  determination 
that  was  so  conspicuous  a  factor  in  his 
character. 

"You  have  not  altogether  forgotten  the 
'lane  that  leads  to  dreamland,'  as  you  described 

•/ 

it  once?"  he  asked,  guiding  his  horse  into 
such  a  position  as  to  cut  off  her  only  means 
of  escape. 

"Forgotten  it?"  and  Joyce,  cornered,  faced 
him  frankly.  "How  could  any  one  who 
had  ever  seen  it  forget  this  lovely  wilderness? 
I  only  wonder  that  so  few  have  found  it." 

Then  both  the  young  people  sat  silently 
revelling  in  the  beautiful  landscape  with  its 
framing  of  distant  peaks. 

Nature  had  been  recklessly  lavish  in  the 
embellishment  of  this  secluded  wild,  for 
in  the  soil  she  had  sown  not  only  the  seeds 
of  the  chestnut,  the  hickory,  pine,  maple 

246 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

and  other  familiar  forest  growths  to  sprout 
and  develop  unmolested,  but  here,  also, 
the  tulip  tree  flaunted  its  gorgeous  bloom; 
here  the  stained  foliage  of  the  sweet-gum 
joined  elbows  with  the  sourwood,  wafting 
perfume  from  its  myriads  of  tiny  cups;  here 
were  the  laurel,  the  holly,  the  rhododendron, 
and  from  bough  to  bough  and  from  trunk 
to  trunk  swung  graceful  festoons  of  the  wild 
grapevine.  What  were  the  famed  odors  of 
Arabv  to  the  fragrance  that  here  abounded 
in  blossom  time?  A  gay  carpet  of  wild 
flowers  lay  beneath  one's  feet,  and  in  shel- 
tered crevices,  ferns  of  differing  species 
uncurled  their  feathery  fronds.  Under  these 
huge  trees,  one  could  lie  far  apart  from 
everything  save  nature,  circled  by  green  walls 
and  roofed  by  the  dome  of  the  sky,  and 
picture  a  world  new  created,  unmarred  and 
undebased,  that  Omniscience  could  pronounce 
"good."  Or  if,  wearying  of  solitude,  one 
sought  the  reassuring  companionship  of  one's 
own  kind,  a  few  steps  led  to  the  edge  of 
the  bluff,  where  could  be  caught,  beyond 
a  billowing  sea  of  verdant  corn  far  below, 
glimpses  of  the  silver  flash  of  the  river,  bear- 
ing on  its  ripples  now  a  flatboat  paddled 
by  an  erect  oarsman,  or,  again,  a  wide  raft 

247 


steered  by  lumbermen  in  rough,  picturesque 
garb,  who  sang  lustily  as  they  floated  down. 

The  soft  voice  of  the  girl  at  length  ended 
the  stillness. 

"How  could  any  one  bear  to  give  all  this 
up?"  she  asked.  "It  must  well-nigh  have 
broken  his  heart.  Oh!  I  feel  such  pity 
for  the  poor  soul  who  had  planned  a  home 
here,  and  then  was  forced  to  abandon  it." 

"Do  you?"  replied  her  companion,  with 
but  little  visible  evidence  of  the  emotion 
that  threatened  to  master  him.  "  One  should 
be  thankful  for  all  favors — even  pity — I 
suppose."  Then  as  Joyce,  at  this  speech, 
turned  eyes  of  bewilderment  upon  him:  "I 
am  the  owner  of  this  land;  I  bought  it  last 
fall— after  that  day  when  we  discovered  it. 
No,"  as  her  lips  parted  in  astonishment, 
"I  did  not  tell  you,  nor  any  one.  I  did  not 
want  to  talk  about  it  until  the  purchase  was 
complete,  and  there  were  flaws  in  the  title 
that  had  to  be  cleared — in  fact,  we  were  not 
sure  at  one  time  that  they  could  be  cleared, 
but  I  was  more  fortunate  than  some  men 
who  have  bought  land  in  this  hill  country. 
Once  when  I  was  away  looking  after  that, 
I  even  went  so  far  as  to  put  some  rough 
sketches  I  had  drawn  into  an  architect's  hands, 

248 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

and  asked  him  to  make  plans  along  the  lines 
I  had  indicated.  When  the  deed  was  on 
record  and  the  plans  were  mailed  to  me, 
you  had  gone  away — somehow,  I  felt  as  if 
you  had  gone  from  me  forever;  so  I  locked 
all  the  papers  in  the  strong-box  of  my  safe, 
and  they  are  there  now,  mute  evidence — 
like  these  chimneys — of  a  man's  high  aspira- 
tions and  their  overthrow." 

Joyce's  face  was  a  study.  Could  this 
be  David,  straight-forward,  matter-of-fact 
David  Carroll,  relating  such  a  romance  ? 

"I  did  not  know,"  she  stammered  at  last, 
her  cheeks  flushing  and  paling. 

"You  seemed  so  kind  to  me  the  day  we 
were  here,"  he  continued,  resolved  to  tell 
the  whole  story,  "  that  I  was  foolish  enough 
to  imagine — to  measure  your  feeling  by  my 
own.  I  have  known  very  little  of  girls — 
perhaps  I  misunderstood.  At  least,  I  can 
now  claim  the  pity  you  were  expressing." 
He  had  dismounted,  and  now  threw  his 
bridle  over  the  limb  of  a  tree  as  he  quickly 
strode  to  the  girl's  side.  "No!  No!"  he 
cried  out  passionately,  as  he  reached  her, 
"I  will  not  have  your  pity!  Oh!  Joyce! 
Joyce!"  seizing  one  of  her  hands — "You 
say  you  are  in  love  with  this  place — wouldn't 

249 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

you — couldn't  you — some  day — come  out 
nere — with  me —  and  make  it  home  ?" 

Unconsciously  he  was  drawing  her  out  of 
her  saddle,  and  now  the  lovely  face  that  had 
been  shyly  averted  during  his  protest,  turned 
to  him  radiant  with  a  look  of  joyful  surrender. 

"I  will  come — so  gladly — if  you  want 
me,  David,"  she  whispered  as  she  slipped 
down  into  his  waiting  arms. 

A  rowdy  songster,  poised  aloft  in  the  blue, 
whistled  an  impudent  encore  for  the  tender 
tableau. 

"More  yet!  More  yet!"  called  the  quails 
in  the  thicket;  while  the  rows  of  stately  trees 
rustled  their  leaves  in  decorous  applause. 

"And  now,"  said  Joyce,  after  a  time, 
"tell  me  more  about  those  plans  you  say 
are  stuffed  away  in  your  safe.  Did  you  con- 
vince your  architect  that  nothing  less  than  a 
log-cabin  would  be  suitable  here  ?" 

"I  did,"  affirmed  David  with  a  smile. 
"I  told  him  to  plan  a  double  log-cabin  with 
a  second  story,  and  that,  in  some  way,  these 
old  chimneys  were  to  be  utilized.  I  told 
him,  also,  to  figure  on  the  most  modern 
plumbing — the  water  can  easily  be  piped 
from  a  spring  higher  up  the  mountain — and 
I  suggested  that  some  of  us  that  were  not 

250 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

born  in  the  South,  considered  screen  doors 
and  windows  a  necessity.  A  log-cabin  with 
screens  and  plumbing!  Your  critical  Cousin 
Letitia  will  tell  us  we  are  building  an  anach- 
ronism." 

"I'm  afraid  I  shan't  care  much  what  she 
says,"  said  Joyce  dimpling  saucily,  "if — " 
and  her  cheeks  grew  more  rosy,  "if — we 
are  satisfied.  Oh!  how  I  shall  love  it — stuffy 
screens  and  water-pipes,  and  anachron — 
what-do-you-call-'ems  and  all!  And  the  dog- 
trot must  be  wide  enough  so  that  any  one 
passing  along  the  mountain  road  can  see 
right  through  it  to  the  peak  on  the  'yon  side'; 
and  we  must  have  a  hedge  of  hollyhocks 
and  smoke-bush,  or  of  sumach  and  golden- 
glow — which  do  you  think  would  be  most 
effective,  David,  between  the  kitchen  and 
the  house,  and  a  bright  red  hammock  swung 
down  in  that  dark  clump  of  trees.  Oh! 
David!  David!  Are  you  sure  those  things 
are  all  in  your  plans  ?" 

The  young  man  laughed  like  a  happy 
boy.  "I  reckon  I  must  have  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  leave  the  hollyhocks  and 
the  red  hammocks  and  the  golden-glows  to 
you,"  he  responded. 

"  Oh !     Are  you  sure  we  are  really  awake  ?" 

251 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

asked  the  girl  with  a  sigh  of  deep  content, 
as  she  watched  her  lover  release  their  horses. 
"Things  have  gone  all  criss-cross  with  me 
lately.  Bruce  is  so  changed  and  Letitia  is 
so  worried,  and  I  have  been  so  very  unhappy. 
Maybe  we  will  find  this  has  just  been  'play- 
pretend/  as  we  used  to  say  about  anything 
very  nice  when  we  were  children.  Until  I 
have  seen  those  plans,  I  shall  be  afraid  that 
it  is  only  a  happy,  happy  dream." 

"If  it  is  a  dream,  please  God  we  will  never 
waken,  dearest,  dearest!"  David  answered, 
drawing  the  two  hands  that  had  crept  back 
into  his  up  to  his  shoulders,  while  his  head 
bent  and  his  lips  met  hers  once  more. 

Then  he  lifted  her  into  the  saddle. 


252 


CHAPTER  XV 

NOTWITHSTANDING  his  reluctance  to  ask 
a  pardon  for  a  condemned  criminal,  Bruce 
Patterson  had  not  reckoned  on  any  possibility 
of  his  request  being  met  by  a  refusal.  The 
Governor,  while  an  intimate  friend  and  crony 
of  his  father,  and  a  man  sincere  in  his  partizan- 
ship  with  the  advocates  of  reforms,  had 
never  impressed  him  as  a  man  of  strong 
individuality  or  firm  convictions.  He  had, 
himself,  been  instrumental  in  securing  the 
nomination  of  Judge  Redfern  for  the  office 
of  State  Executive,  partly  because,  at  that 
time,  no  other  man  seemed  equally  available, 
but  more  because  he  believed  the  old  jurist 
could  be  easily  swayed  by  the  opinions  of 
those  in  whom  he  had  confidence. 

Bruce  had  hesitated  from  making  the  plea 
for  clemency  towards  Tyree,  not  that  he  had 
any  doubt  of  the  outcome,  but  because — 
to  his  own  conscience — his  willingness  to 
take  such  a  step  was  but  additional  proof 
of  how  far  he  had  drifted  from  the  old  moor- 
ings, of  how  ready  he  had  become  to  sacrifice 
everything,  even  principle,  for  peace  and 
tranquillity  of  mind. 

253 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

In  the  eventful  visit  to  his  college,  when 
he  had  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  Letitia 
Phelps,  he  had,  manlike,  been  flattered  by  her 
unconcealed  preference  for  his  companionship. 
Thoughtlessly  he  had  slipped  into  a  false  posi- 
tion, and  when,  at  last,  he  had  to  face  a 
misinterpretation  of  his  words  and  actions,  he 
had  felt  gagged  by  the  inherited  chivalry  of 
the  men  of  his  clime,  and  had  been  weakly 
mute  at  the  crucial  moment  when  silence 
meant  acquiescence. 

Like  many  another,  he  had  leaned  upon 
the  broken  reed  of  a  love  that  should  spring 
from  marriage,  and  had  been  deluded  into 
considering  his  course  unselfish,  while  it 
was  the  acme  of  selfishness.  For  not  only 
are  the  sins  of  the  fathers  visited  on  their 
offspring,  but  the  foibles,  the  weaknesses, 
the  mistakes  of  every  mortal  being  cast 
their  shadows  over  the  destinies  of  countless 
innocents.  When  he  wakened  to  the  realiza- 
tion of  the  extent  to  which  the  false  situation 
he  had  accepted  had  reacted  upon  others; — 
when,  under  his  wife's  jealous  domination 
he  had  been  compelled  to  renounce  all  but 
a  nominal  allegiance  to  the  political  party 
whose  platform  was  substantially  of  his  con- 
struction, and  to  abandon  his  life-long  purpose 

254 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

of  being  a  leader  in  the  movement  for  the 
uplift  of  his  brothers  of  the  mountains,  he 
lost  heart,  laid  down  his  arms  and  ceased 
to  struggle  against  relentless  circumstance. 
Still  there  were  times  when  he  felt  as  if  he 
had  parted  from  his  nobler,  better  self,  who 
occasionally  called  to  him  from  outside  the 
maze  in  which  his  feet  now  wandered.  It 
was  in  obedience  to  one  of  these  calls  that  he 
had  accepted  the  duty  of  the  twelfth  juror. 

The  Governor's  arraignment  had  both 
roused  his  ire  and  stung  his  pride,  but  it 
had  done  more,  it  had  diagnosed  the  cause 
of  his  moral  suffering — he  had  been  untrue 
to  himself. 

He  groped  his  way  through  the  streets 
like  a  man  blinded  by  a  vivid  lightning  flash. 
On  and  on  he  walked,  not  caring  where  his 
steps  might  lead  him.  Once  he  stumbled 
upon  a  homely  scene  that  made  his  throat 
contract  convulsively  when  he  contrasted  it 
with  the  cold  formality  or  the  spasmodic 
tenderness  of  the  relation  that  existed  between 
himself  and  Letitia. 

A  colored  laborer  sat  on  a  low  fence,  holding 
out  a  grimy  paw,  one  finger  of  which  was 
cut  and  bleeding.  By  his  side  stood  a  neatly 
dressed  negress,  tearing  strips  from  a  piece 

255 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

of  cotton  cloth  that  had  covered  the  basket 
in  which  she  had  been  carrying  some  freshly 
laundered  garments.  As  Bruce  neared  them, 
the  wife  began  to  wrap  the  bandage  around 
the  wounded  member  of  her  husband  (that 
they  were  husband  and  wife  was  patent), 
the  man  looking  into  the  face  that  bent 
over  him  with  the  trustfulness  of  a  child, 
the  while  he  involuntarily  shrank  from  her 
firm  touch. 

"Tha',  tha',  now,  honey!"  she  was  murmur- 
ing when  Bruce  had  reached  hearing  distance, 
"  wah  fo'  yo'  squinchin'  yo'se'f  up  dat-a-way  ? 
I  ain'  gwine  huht  yo'  any  mo'  'n  kin  holp. 
Yo'  hoi'  Mistah  Finge'  up  righ'  stiddy  now, 
an'  see  how  scrumptious  I  gwine  fix  him." 

The  spectator  of  the  little  conjugal  tableau 
felt  his  eyes  grow  hot  with  tears,  which  he 
dashed  away  with  impatience.  Letitia  would 
have  urged  that  the  wounded  man  hurry  to 
the  nearest  surgeon  and  have  the  cut  properly 
and  scientifically  dressed;  she  would  have 
criticised  the  shocking  taste  of  such  a  display 
of  affection  on  a  public  thoroughfare.  Her 
ideas  were,  no  doubt,  in  strict  keeping  with 
the  trend  of  the  times,  but  Bruce  envied 
these  poor,  ignorant  souls,  who  were  yet  so 
truly  rich  in  the  possession  of  each  other. 

256 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

After  wandering  listlessly  for  a  time,  he, 
at  last,  returned  to  the  hotel  and  registered, 
and  after  dispatching  a  porter  to  the  station 
for  the  hand-baggage  ne  had  left  there, 
he  walked  out  of  the  hot  building  and 
to  a  cross  street  that  led  past  a  blacksmith 
shop  and  some  tumble-down  shanties  to 
the  river.  A  number  of  flat-bottom  boats 
were  here  moored  to  the  bank,  and  selecting 
one  that  was  secured  only  by  a  knotted  rope, 
he  loosened  it,  stepped  in  and  pushed  out 
into  the  water.  No  defined  purpose  was 
hi  his  mind — all  he  was  conscious  of  was 
the  impulse  to  get  away  from  everybody — 
from  everything.  He  pushed  on  in  the  shade 
of  the  overhanging  branches,  until  the  cool- 
ness and  even  flow  of  the  river  had  soothed 
his  lacerated  nerves.  In  spite  of  modern 
dogma  as  to  the  omnipotence  of  mind,  there 
is  no  finite  mind  that  can  withstand  the 
lulling  movement  of  sunlit  water.  He  looked 
now  and  again  into  the  green  depths  beneath 
him,  and  just  once  a  thought  of  the  facility 
with  which  the  snarl  in  which  he  had  become 
entangled  could  be  here  unravelled  assailed 
him.  One  plunge,  and  the  sun  would  not 
have  changed  its  position  in  the  heavens 
before  he  would  be  at  rest!  He  put  the 

257 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

suggestion  from  him  with  bitter  amuse- 
ment. Melodrama!  He  had  just  heard  him- 
self styled  a  dastard  and  a  traitor,  he  would 
not  give  any  one  cause  to  name  him  coward 
as  well.  Be  his  future  what  it  might,  he 
must  face  it. 

When  he  felt  stronger  and  more  tranquil, 
he  rowed  back  to  the  place  from  which  he 
had  taken  the  boat.  He  had  determined 
never  again  to  yield  his  individuality;  never 
again  to  be  the  puppet  of  another's  caprices. 
The  past  was  gone  beyond  recall,  but  he  was 
a  young  man  and  long  years  lav  before  him — 
years  in  which  he  might  retrieve  the  errors 
he  had  made — years  in  which  to  Letitia's 
love  could  be  added  her  respect  for  her 
husband,  and,  possibly,  after  a  more  thorough 
mutual  understanding,  her  husband's  love 
for  her; — years  in  which  the  mountains 
should,  at  last,  have  their  champion  and 
their  scourge. 

If  he  could  but  banish  that  haunting 
doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  message 
Tyree's  eyes  had  sent  to  his!  What  if  it 
had  been,  not  a  confession  as  he  had  inter- 
preted it,  but  a  challenge?  What  if,  in  later 
years,  it  should  be  proven  conclusively  that  he 
had  sent  an  innocent  man  to  the  scaffold  ? 

258 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

As  he  neared  the  shore,  he  saw  the  black- 
smith come  down  the  bank  anxiously  watching 
his  movements,  and  he  thrust  his  doubts 
and  fears  aside. 

"  Was  it  your  boat  that  I  stole,  my  friend," 
he  called  as  soon  as  he  was  within  speaking 
distance,  with  the  smile  that  had  always 
won  a  good-humored  response.  "I  was  too 
warm  to  stop  and  ask  for  it;  but,  if  it  is  yours, 
I  am  in  your  debt — deeply  in  your  debt," 
with  a  meaning  that  was  lost  to  his  hearer. 

The  blacksmith  smiled  also.  "Oh,  there 
ain't  no  question  of  debt,"  he  said  with  a 
negative  gesture  as  Bruce's  hand  crept  towards 
his  pocket.  "I'm  mighty  glad  yo'-all  took 
it.  It's  a  good  little  boat  if  it  does  leak  some," 
and  he  caught  the  rope  and  made  it  fast  as 
Bruce  stepped  to  the  bank.  "Ain't  this 
Mr.  Bruce  Patterson  ?  I  heard  yo'-all  speak 
a  couple  of  times  before  the  last  election, 
but  I  ain't  seen  anything  of  you  since;  you 
ain't  been  here  lately,  have  you?"  The 
two  climbed  the  steep  road  together,  and  the 
blacksmith  continued:  "I  jus'  did  enjoy 
hearin'  yo'-all  speak.  Seemed  'sif  yo'd  got 
hold  of  the  right  of  it.  I  wish  I  could  hear 
yo'  again  some  time  soon."  Then  as  they 
reached  the  street,  the  speaker  looked  back: 

259 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"  I  just  love  that  old  river,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  Seems  sometimes  as  if  she  knew  what  was 
ailin'  yo'  an'  what  to  do  for  yo'.  I  reckon 
there's  sightlier  rivers  in  this  world — I  reckon 
you've  seen  most  of  them — but  I  don't  believe 
there's  such  a  comfortin'  river  anywhere  on  all 
God's  earth  as  this  old  Kaintuck." 

At  the  entrance  to  the  hotel  the  two  parted, 
Bruce  reiterating  his  thanks  for  the  boat, 
and  promising,  at  the  other's  invitation,  to 
come  down  some  day  and  let  the  owner 
take  him  out  in  it. 

The  chance  meeting  with  this  simple- 
hearted  workman  who  had  been  impressed 
with  his  political  speeches,  added  its  balm 
to  the  healing  of  the  river,  and  Bruce  bore 
himself  more  erect;  there  was  renewed  sparkle 
in  his  eyes  and  a  greater  buoyancy  in  his 
manner  as  he  passed  through  the  office  of 
the  hotel  on  the  way  to  his  room.  Just 
before  he  was  out  of  hearing,  the  clerk  called 
after  him,  and  met  him  as  he  stepped  back, 
holding  a  letter  towards  him.  "It  was  left 
here  while  you  were  out,"  he  explained, 
placing  the  envelope  in  Mr.  Patterson's 
hand. 

With  the  missive  crushed  tight  in  one  palm, 
Bruce  mounted  to  his  room.  In  the  short 

260 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

space  of  time  that  he  had  been  on  the  water, 
he  seemed  to  have  lost  touch  with  all  on  shore. 
It  was  almost  as  if  he  had  obeyed  the  impulse 
that  bade  him  make  a  last  resting  place 
beneath  the  shining  ripples  of  the  river — the 
past  had  no  longer  a  claim  upon  him.  He 
threw  the  letter  on  a  table  and  let  it  lie  un- 
opened while  he  washed  his  face  and  made 
some  slight  changes  in  his  dress.  Then, 
with  a  sigh,  he  picked  it  up  and  tore  off  the 
end  of  the  envelope,  and  drew  out  a  short 
note  from  the  warden  of  the  penitentiary, 
stating  that  Judson  Tyree  had  asked  re- 
peatedly to  see  Mr.  Patterson,  and  if  the  latter 
wished  to  comply  with  the  prisoner's  desire, 
he  might  call  on  the  following  morning  at 
nine  o'clock. 

After  another  night  of  horror,  a  night  in 
which  the  anticipated  appeals  and  upbraid- 
ings  of  the  convict,  the  stubborn  distrust  of 
Letitia  and  the  cold  aloofness  of  most  of  his 
former  friends  recurred  to  him  in  torture 
that  was  akin  to  madness,  Bruce,  at  the  hour 
appointed  by  the  warden,  summoned  what 
fortitude  remained  to  him  and  went  to  the 
prison  entrance.  There  was  some  formality 
and  delay  about  his  admission,  but,  at  length, 
the  warden  himself  appeared  and  welcomed 

261 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

him.  He  led  Bruce  to  his  private  office,  and 
after  a  little  desultory  conversation,  said: 
"I  have  no  notion  what  it  is  Tyree  wants 
to  tell  you,  Mr.  Patterson;  but  he  has  begged 
to  see  you  several  times,  and  when  a  man 
is  in  his  situation  I  always  feel  like  he'd  ought 
to  have  everything  he  asks  for  that  we  can 
get  for  him.  One  of  the  guards  saw  you  go 
to  the  Governor's  yesterday  evening,  and 
spoke  to  me  about  it,  so  I  sent  the  note  to 
the  hotel  for  you.  I  will  have  Tyree  come 
down  here  where  you  can  talk  to  him  more 
comfortably.  It  ain't  exactly  according  to 
Hoyle,  but  I  reckon  you're  entitled  to  some 
privileges  if  he  ain't" 

He  went  out,  and  Bruce  when  he  was  left 
alone  felt  his  blood  mount  so  that  his  ears 
were  aflame,  while  his  feet  and  hands  were  ice- 
cold.  Of  course  this  man,  Tyree,  only  wished 
to  insist  upon  his  innocence  and  denounce  the 
man  who  nad  dared  call  him  guilty. 

In  a  few  moments  steps  sounded  in  the 
corridor  and  the  prisoner  was  led  in  by  a 
guard.  Tyree's  shoulders  stooped  and  he 
was  ghastly  pale  and  thin.  He  extended 
one  bony  hand  to  his  visitor  with  a  feeble 
"Howdy,"  and  Bruce  while  holding  the  hand 
in  his  own  was  struck  by  its  loss  of  muscular 

262 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

strength.  The  guard  went  to  a  window 
and  raised  the  shade,  and  after  the  two  men 
had  seated  themselves,  said:  "I  will  be 
waiting  just  outside  the  door,  Mr.  Patterson," 
in  reassuring  tones,  and  withdrew,  leaving 
the  door  ajar.  When  he  was  out  of  sight, 
though  within  hearing,  the  prisoner  raised 
his  head. 

"I  ben  askin'  to  see  yo',  Bruce  Patterson. 
I  was  keen  to  see  yo',  an'  the  warden,  he 
'lowed  yestidy  mebbe  yo'd  come-by." 

"I  am  glad  to  come  if  there  is  anything 
I  can  do  for  you,  Mr.  Tyree,"  Bruce 
answered  cordially,  thinking  the  man  must 
wish  to  send  some  message  to  his  family, 
as  he  showed  no  signs  of  enmity  to  him. 

"Yes,"  Tyree  repeated,  "I  was  a-wantin' 
to  see  yo'  powerful  bad.  Ef  yo'  favor  yore 
paw,  oF  Hi  Patterson,  yo're  a  honest  human, 
an'  I've  got  somethin'  to  fix  up  while — while 
I'm  here — an'  I  'low  yo're  the  one  to  help 
me  fix  hit." 

"I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you,  Mr.  Tyree," 
asserted  Bruce  once  more,  "whatever  it  may 
be." 

"'Tain't  nary  thing  fer  myself  I'm  a- 
wantin'."  Then  after  a  pause:  "I've  got 
a  little  boy,  as  peart  as  yo'  ever  see,  an'  sence 

263 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

I  come  here,  I've  ben  a-studyin'  'bout  him, 
an'  I  'lowed  ef  I  could  on'y  git  a  chanct  I'd 
ask  yo'  to  taken  him.  I  heerd  onct  what 
yore  Paw  aimed  to  make  outen  yo',  an' 
I've  ben  a-thinkin'  I'd  like  my  boy  teached 
jes'  that-a-way — to  help  the  folks  in  these 
yere  mount'ins.  I  don  know  how  'tis  we've 
got  ourselves  into  sech  a  tanglemint — but 
what  with  the  feud-fights  an'  the  moonshine, 
an'  the  poison  whiskey  they  bring  in  from 
outside,  seems  like  our  ol'  ways  of  livin' 
had  got  stirred  into  a  kin'  o'  sour  mixtery, 
an'  somebody's  got  to  take  holt  an'  sweeten 
hit  up  again.  I  ben  a-studyin'  that,  mebbe, 
yo'  could  git  Noc  teached  like  yo'  was  an' 
ne  could  help  yo'  do  hit.  Hit  won'  be  done 
in  ary  one  numan's  life,  nor  two,  neither, 
but  ef  some  of  yo'  would  jes'  take  holt  an' 
make  a  start,  things  wouldn't  git  no  worse, 
nohow." 

"You  mean,"  said  Bruce  in  some  bewilder- 
ment, as  Tyree  sat  wetting  his  dry  lips  with 
the  end  of  his  tongue,  "that  you  want  me  to 
take  charge  of  your  son  and  have  him  live 
with  me?  Would  not  his  mother  object 
to  that?" 

"Ho!  Zulemmy,  she  ain't  his  Maw.  Noc's 
Maw  died  when  he  was  on'y  a  year  old. 

264 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

His  Maw  was  a  good  woman,  ef  there's  ever 
ben  ary  good  woman  on  this  yere  earth — an' 
no  boy  ain't  never  had  a  better  Gran'paw 
than  Noc.  He  favors  his  Gran'paw,  an' 
mebbe  he'll  grow  to  be  like  his  Maw's  kin. 
Thar's  somethin'  more  I  was  aimin'  to  say 
to  yo',"  with  cautiously  lowered  voice  and 
a  troubled  glance  at  the  partly  open  door. 
**  I  got  right  smart  o'  land  up  thar  on  Trouble- 
some— plumb  full  o'  coal!  In  the  loft  to 
my  house  yo'll  find  a  tin  box  hid  away  in 
a  cornder  o'  the  roof,  an'  in  thet  box  thar's 
some  papers — law  writin'.  Yo'll  find  thar 
the  writin'  they  give  me  when  I  boughten 
that  trac'  o'  land.  Hit's  all  fer  Noc.  Yo' 
kin  sell  part  of  hit,  or  bony  on  hit  to  pay 
fer  his  keep  an'  his  schoolin',  an'  when  ne's 
a  growed  man,  I  'low  the  railroads  '11  be  down 
in  the  mount'ins,  an'  that  land  '11  be  worth 
right  smart  money;  'nough  any  way  so't 
my  boy  won't  hev  to  do  ary  kin'  o'  stiddy 
work,  but  kin  jes'  take  holt  and  help  git 
some  better  laws  made,  an'  git  honester 
men  to  make  the  laws.  I  'lowed  yo'd  see 
the  squire  here,  or  down  to  Hollywood  an' 
git  him  to  make  the  writin'  an'  send  hit  to 
me  to  sign  my  mark,  so't  that  land  '11  be 
Noc's.  Zulemmy,  she  kin  hev  the  farm, 

265 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

if  she  wants  hit,  but  she  don't  know  nary 
word  bouten  this  land,  an'  I  want  Noc  to 
have  hit.  I'm  a-askin'  a  powerful  sight  o' 
yo',  but  I  reckoned  yo'  was  the  man  to  ask.'1 

"  I  will  be  glad  to  do  it  for  you,  Mr.  Tyree," 
answered  Bruce,  touched  by  this  unexpected 
confidence,  when  so  many  were  showing  him 
distrust.  "  I  will  do  my  utmost  to  see  that  your 
son  becomes  a  much  better  and  more  useful 
mountaineer  than  I — have  been, — more  loyal 
to  his  home,  to  his  own  people,  and  to  himself." 

Tyree  did  not  look  up,  but  sat  with  head 
bent  and  hands  loosely  clasped  while  he  spoke : 
"A  human  gits  to  studyin'  when  he's  pen- 
itentured,"  he  said  slowly.  "  There  ain't  much 
else  that  he  kin  do;  an*  I  ben  a-studyin'  over 
some  of  these  yere  tanglemints  we-all  have 
got  ourselves  twisted  up  in.  Then  I  ben 
a-studyin'  whose  say-so  made  killin'  the  mean- 
est crime  there  is.  The  Lord,  he  didn't 
make  nary  diff'runce  betwixt  the  ten  com- 
man'munts  when  he  give  'em  out,  an'  's  far 
as  I  have  heerd,  the  Bible  don't  tell  us  nowhar 
that  killin'  is  so  powerful  much  worse  than 
breakin'  ary  of  the  ten.  I  ben  a-studyin' 
'bout  them  first  five  comman'munts,  an'  why 
humans  ain't  never  penitentured  fer  a-breakin' 
them! 

266 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"  The  preacher,  he  comes  an'  reads  to  me 
mos'  ary  day  now,  an'  when  I  asked  him 
why  thar  wasn't  no  jailin'  fer  those  that 
broke  them  first  five  comman'munts,  he  said 
he  'lowed  the  Lord  was  aimin'  to  punish 
them  hisself  in  the  nex'  world.  Ef  that's 
so,  I'm  glad  I've  got  mine  here.  I  ben 
a-studyin'  too,  that,  mebbe,  ef  them  first  five 
comman'munts  was  better  kep'  thar'd  be 
more  chanct  fer  the  las'  five  bein'  kep'. 
I  don't  know;  I  ain't  had  nary  schoolin'  an' 
like's  not  I  figure  hit  out  wrong." 

A  moment  later  he  raised  eyes  flashing 
with  hatred.  "I  tell  yo'  thar's  some  humans 
that's  got  to  be  killed!  Take  these  yere 
sassy  revenues  that  comes  a-sneakin',  an' 
a-pryin',  an'  a-pokin'  theirselves  in  ary  kin' 
o*  dirty  work — gittin  women-folks  into  scrapes, 
an'  a-houndin',  an'  a-huntin'  men  down 
that  ain't  done  ary  wrong.  Fer  thar  ain't 
nary  word  in  the  hull  ten  comman'munts 
'bout  not  usin'  what  yo've  planted  and  growed 
ary  way  yo'  choose.  I  ain't  talkin'  'gainst 
Gov'ment;  hit  don't  see  what-all  kin's  o' 
devilmint  goes  on  down  this-a-way;  hit  don' 
know  how  the  officers  hit  sends  down  here 
keeps  a-stirrin'  up  all  the  mount' ins  with 
meanness.  They  got  to  make  some  show 

267 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

o*  earnin'  their  pay,  so  they  riles  up  water 
that  was  all  clear  an'  sweet  afore.  An' — 
an' — that  one — he  come  to  my  home  'lowin' 
he  was  a-lookin'  up  the  metes  an'  boun's 
o'  a  trac'  o'  land  he  was  aimin'  to  buy;  an' 
me  so  dumb  as  to  believe  what  he  said  an' 
take  him  right  in.  He  hung  roun'  an'  hung 
roun',  a-goin'  off  to  the  thick  timber,  whar 
he  said  his  land  was,  ever'  day,  an'  a-purtendin' 
he  was  measurin'  out  that  land ;  an' — Zulemmy 
— a-fryin'  chicken  fer  his  supper,  an'  a-tyin' 
up  her  hair  with  red  ribbons,  like  she  used 
to  do  when  her  an'  me  was  a-talkin'.  He 
'lowed  he  never  seen  nary  such  peart  boy  as 
Noc,  an'  he  used  to  git  him  to  tellin'  tales 
an'  laugh  at  all  his  foolishness.  An'  one 
mornin'  he  says:  *Noc,  le's  yo'  an'  me  go 
fer  a  ride  on  oF  jinny-mule'  — an'  Noc  was 
plumb  crazy  to  start  off.  He's  always  took 
to  a  horse  or  mule — yo'  kin  hire  him  to  do 
ary  thing  yo'  want  fer  yo'  ef  yo'  on'y  let 
him  hoi'  the  reins  over  a  horse's  back.  I 
wasn't  'lowin'  to  use  jinny  that  day,  so  I 
let  'em  ride  off." 

The  speaker  again  drew  his  tongue  across 
his  parched  lips.  He  had  spoken  in  louder 
tones  since  he  had  been  telling  of  this  visit 
from  a  revenue  officer,  and  neither  he  nor 

268 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

his  listener  was  aware  that  the  guard  at  the 
door  had  changed  his  position  so  that  every 
spoken  word  was  audible  to  him.  Tyree's 
features  had  grown  more  pinched  and  grey, 
but  his  eyes  blazed  fiercely  as  he  continued : 

"  I  was  over  to  my  potato  patch  that  evenin', 
when  I  heerd  talkin'  on  the  road, — an* — 
an' — then  they  come  along.  Jinny-mule  was 
hitched  to  a  wagon,  along  of  a  horse,  an* 
oP  Christiansen  an'  his  boy  Jeff  was  in  the 
wagon,  handcuffed,  with  what  was  lef  o' 
their  still  betwixt  'em.  That  damned  revenue 
was  a-sittin'  on  th'  front  seat,  a-laughin'  an* 
a-jokin'  with  two  others  who  was  ridin* 
longside,  an'  Noc,  my  boy  Noc,  was  a-drivin*. 
When  they  see  me,  Noc,  he  calls  out:  'O 
Pappy,  Pappy,  watch  me  a-drivin'!'  An' 
oF  Christiansen,  Noc's  Maw's  uncle,  he 
looked  out  at  me,  an'  he  says:  'Hit's  a 
drive  he'll  be  sorry  fer  to  the  las'  day  o' 
his  life,  Judson  Tyree!  I  an'  my  son  ain't 
goin'  to  fergit  this  against  yo'  an'  yore  son, 
when  we  gits  free  again.  I  never  'lowed  yo' 
was  sech  a  coward  as  to  send  Jerindy's  boy, 
my  own  blood-kin,  out  to  do  seen  dirty 
work.' 

"  I  jes'  stood  thar  an'  couldn't  say  nary  word; 
an'  one  of  the  revenues  'lowed  'at  Gov'ment 

269 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

had  ought  to  let  Noc  wear  a  star — 't  he  was  a 
smarter  officer  than  ary  o'  them,  fer  they'd 
ben  a-hangin'  roun'  fer  days,  a-tryin'  to  locate 
Christiansen's  still  an'  ketch  him,  an*  all  Noc 
had  to  do  was  to  ride  right  up  an'  call  'em 
an'  they  come  right  out  o'  their  hole.  I'd 
taken  Noc  over  thar  a  couple  o'  times,  an' 
he  knew  the  way,  an'  when  Christiansen 
see  Noc  on  jinny-mule — them  revenues  was 
a-hidin'  whar  they  couldn't  be  seen, — he 
thought  I  was  along  somewhar,  an'  when 
Noc  called  to  him,  he  jes'  walked  right  into 
the  trap  they'd  baited  with  my  boy.  Afore 
I  could  git  my  tongue  loosened  up,  they 
all  driv'  off,  an'  lef'  me  a-standin'  thar. 
Noc  an'  the  mule  was  to  home  when  I  got 
thar,  but  the  others  had  gone  on. 

"  Fer  a  whiles  things  didn't  seem  nary  diff'- 
runt  from  what  they'd  alwavs  ben,  an'  then  a 
change  begun  to  come.  Folks  never  come-by, 
nor  stopped  to  say  'howdy'  no  more — an' 
one  day  a  boy  at  school  twitted  Noc  with 
what  his  pappy  had  done  fer  his  maw's 
blood-kin.  I  got  my  ol'  gun  down  an'  taken 
hit  out  to  the  field  when  I  was  out  thar— 
I  can't  say  exac'ly  why  I  done  hit.  I  reckon 
I  'lowed  'twouldn't  do  nary  harm  ef  't  wasn't 
needed,  an*  ef  trouble  came,  hit  was  handy  by. 

270 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

One  day  I  was  out  a-diggin'  an'  I  heerd  a 
call,  an'  thar,  lookin'  over  the  rails,  was  the 
sassy  face  of  that  revenue.  I  didn't  answer 
nary  word  when  he  'lowed  he'd  like  to  git 
me  an'  Noc  to  holpen  him  on  another  job — 
we'd  done  sech  slick  work  afore.  I  asked 
him  what  in  God's  name  he  was  a-comin' 
roun'  me  fer,  an'  he  'lowed  he  didn't  know  but 
I'd  want  to  send  a  message  to  Christianson. 
'He  thinks  a-powerful  lot  o'  yo'  an'  Noc,' 
he  said  a-grinnin';  an'  he  sat  thar  a-crowin', 
an'  a-foggin',  an'  a-twitterin',  till  I  was 
plumb  crazy.  At  las'  he  'lowed  he  mus' 
be  a-gittin'  on — he'd  on'y  come  out  to  git 
another  kiss  from  Zulemmy. 

"  I  got  down  my  gun  that  was  up  in  the 
crotch  of  a  tree,  an'  I  tol'  him,  as  he  wasn't 
armed,  he  could  have  as  long  as  hit  taken 
me  to  count  twenty  to  git  off  my  land,  an' 
back  to  the  turn  in  the  road,  an'  ef  he  hadn't 
rid  off  by  that  time,  he'd  go  off  a  quicker 
way.  He  turned  white  round  his  mouth,  but 
I  reckon  he  thought  I  was  on'y  a-foggin'. 
'Thar  needn't  be  no  hard  feelin'  'twixt  yo' 
an'  me,  Tyree,'  he  says;  'I've  kissed  lots 
o'  women  as  pretty  as  Zulemmy  an'  rid  off 
an'  fergotten  'em.'  I  kep'  on  a-countin* 
best  I  knew  how,  I  never  had  nary  schoolin' 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

an'  when  I  gits  to  twelve,  I  ain't  plumb  sure 
how  the  figures  come  after  that.  When  I 
got  to  sixteen,  he  see  at  las'  that  I  was  meanin' 
what  I  said,  an'  his  knees  shook  so't  he 
couldn't  scarcely  stand.  'Don't  shoot!  Don't 
shoot,  Tyree,'  he  said.  'My  gun's  away 
down  in  my  saddle  bag,  an'  yo'  won't  shoot 
an  unarmed  man.' 

"  I  never  stopped  my  countin'  an'  when  I 
said  twenty,  I  aimed  an'  fired,  jes'  as  he 
tried  to  climb  on  his  horse's  back.  He  fell 
inside  my  land,  an'  I  dragged  him  out  an' 
through  the  bresh  till  I  got  to  the  turn  in 
the  road,  an'  then  I  lef  him  thar  in  the 
highway  whar  they  found  him.  His  horse 
run  when  he  fell,  an'  run  till  he  reached 
the  next  settlement,  an'  fer  a  long  while  no 
one  suspicioned  me.  When  they  did,  at 
first  I  thought  I  would  say  I  did  hit,  an'  then 
thar  was  Noc,  an'  the  Christiansens  threaten- 
in'  to  start  a  feud  with  him,  an'  squire  'lowed 
I'd  get  off  any  way — cause  hit  had  been  a 
long  time  sence  ary  man  had  been  sentenced 
fer  a  killin'  in  these  mount'ins,  so  I  took 
my  trial  fer  hit." 

Bruce,  whose  nerves  were  all  on  fire,  and 
who  found  it  difficult  to  breathe,  at  last 
managed  to  gasp: 

272 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"You  did  kill  him — you  acknowledge  it?" 

Tyree  looked  at  him  with  surprise. 

"Why,  yo'  know  I  done  hit!'  he  exclaimed 
with  no  trace  of  emotion.  "I  see  at  the 
trial,  when  yo'  was  took  as  the  twelfth  iuror, 
that  yo'  knowed  I  done  hit,  an*  I  tor  the 
squire  who  was  a-fightin'  fer  me  that  thar 
wasn't  nary  mite  o'  use." 

Bruce  hid  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  his 
whole  body  quivered  as  its  rigid  nervous 
tension  relaxed.  The  condemned  man  sat 
eyeing  him  with  sympathy,  but  said  noth- 
ing further,  and  the  guard  in  the  corridor 
could  be  heard  whispering  to  some  one  who 
had  joined  him.  When  he  was  sufficiently 
calm,  Bruce  raised  his  head. 

'Tyree,"  he  said  brokenly,  "this  talk 
has  meant  much  to  me.  Is  there  nothing 
I  can  do  for  you  personally?  I  will  be  glad 
and  proud  to  adopt  your  son  and  have  him 
educated  as  you  wish,  and  I  will  have  a 
lawyer  draw  up  a  will  for  you  to  sign  without 
delay; — but  I  wish  I  could  do  something  for 
you,  yourself.  Is  there  nothing  in  this  world 
you  would  like  ?" 

He  rose  to  his  feet  as  he  spoke  these  words, 
for  he  had  caught  the  warden's  voice  without 
and  knew  the  interview  must  end.  Tyree 

273 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

rose  also,  a  clumsy,  bent  figure,  yet  there 
was  genuine  manhood  within  that  uncouth 
shell. 

"No,  I  reckon  not,"  he  said,  exhibiting 
no  signs  of  emotion  as  Bruce  grasped  his  hand 
in  farewell.  "  Things  has  never  gone  straight 
with  me  here,  an'  now  Noc's  fixed  fer,  I'm 
jes'  as  glad  to — to  go  on.  Ef  I  was  to  live, 
Christiansen  an'  Jeff  'd  always  be  a-watchin' 
fer  me — an'  Noc.  But — when  I'm  gone, 
ef  yo'll  jes'  tell  'em  how  hit  all  come  about, 
they'll  believe  yo',  an'  Noc — he'll  be  safe." 


274 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  adult  population  of  Hollywood  and 
its  vicinity  had  been  sadly  puzzled  by  Mr. 
Patterson's  action  since  the  Tyree  trial.  When 
it  was  understood  that  the  twelfth  juror 
was  making  strenuous  endeavors  to  have 
the  adverse  finding  of  the  jury  annulled, 
the  whole  proceeding  seemed  so  strange, 
so  unprecedented,  that  even  Bruce's  most 
sincere  friends  regretted  this  manifestation 
of  a  radical  change  in  their  erstwhile  leader. 

Bill  Treadway,  especially,  had  for  months 
previous  to  the  trial  been  harboring  a  grudge 
against  him,  and  had  resented  the  stubborn 
fact  of  Bruce's  undisputed  supremacy  over 
those  among  whom  he  had  been  born  and 
grown  to  man's  estate.  Bill,  in  his  years 
of  "soldierin',"  had  tasted  of  the  fruit  of 
the  tree  of  worldly  knowledge,  and  was  no 
longer  satisfied  with  his  minor  role  in  the 
drama  of  life.  He  had  learned  that  democracy, 
ostensibly  the  corner-stone  on  which  our 
government  rests,  is  a  sham;  that  the  old 
battle-cry,  "Freedom  forever,"  is  but  a  mean- 
ingless yell  that  accords  with  the  crashing, 

275 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

spluttering  firecrackers  of  Fourth  of  July 
celebrations,  and  like  them  is  repudiated 
and  forgotten  for  another  twelve-month,  as 
soon  as  the  din  of  the  Nation's  Birthday 
festival  dies  away.  This  gave  him  an  oppor- 
tunity to  point  out  a  weakness  in  the  man, 
a  chance  he  had  no  hesitation  in  adopting. 

Treadway  had  lost  the  spirit  or  the  true 
Kentucky  mountaineer — the  spirit  of  childlike 
content — and  had  become  bitterly  envious 
of  all  those  whom  the  possession  of  wealth, 
education  or  talent  raised  above  their  fellows; 
and  Bruce  with  his  mines,  his  years  of  study 
and  travel,  and  his  local  fame  as  an  orator, 
was  the  unwitting  target  at  which  he  most 
often  aimed  his  hostility.  He  had,  like  many 
another,  freely  criticised  the  outcome  of  the 
Tyree  trial  and  he,  like  most  of  the  others, 
had  considered  it  a  play  for  rehabilitation 
in  official  toga,  until  the  evening  when  he 
had  found  Zulemmy,  with  her  gypsy-like 
beauty  and  her  subtle  fascination,  under 
his  roof.  Then  another  motive  for  getting 
rid  of  Tyree  awoke  in  his  mind,  a  motive 
which  he  was  not  loath  to  impute  to  a  brother- 
man! 

Just  at  this  time  he  was  seized  by  his 
periodical  craving  for  liquor,  and  in  his 

276 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

over-stimulated  brain,  facts  and  fancies 
became  undistinguishable.  Only  one  thing 
remained  perfectly  clear  to  him — his  hatred 

J  V 

for  Bruce  Patterson  and  his  desire  to  avenge 
on  this  one  man,  all  the  wrong,  the  injustice 
of  which  he  imagined  himself  the  victim. 
If  in  his  own  vengeance  he  could  include  that 
of  Tyree,  and  thus  leave  a  clear  field  for 
further  advance  into  the  favor  of  the  woman 
who  was  beguiling  him,  so  much  the  better. 
He  wandered  over  the  country,  sleeping 
now  in  the  open,  now  at  a  cabin  of  an  acquaint- 
ance, trying  ever  to  quench  the  burning 
thirst  that  was  consuming  him,  his  beclouded 
wits  intent  upon  one  purpose. 

On  the  other  hand,  Tyree's  wife  was 
conscious  of  her  increasing  fear  of  this  man 
with  his  bold  blue  eyes,  his  reckless  speech 
and  his  masterful  tone.  After  David  Carroll's 
visit,  Zulemmy  had  made  what  for  her  was 
an  effort  to  persuade  Bill  to  stop  drinking 
and  go  back  to  his  work,  but  her  coaxing 
had  only  added  fresh  fuel  to  the  fire  of  passion 
she  had  kindled  within  him. 

She  began  to  recall  her  own  home,  the 
forlorn  little  cabin  with  its  few  tilled  acres, 
not  so  much  for  any  attachment  she  had 
for  it,  as  from  a  desire  to  escape  the  conditions 

277 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

in  which  she  was  now  placed.  Zulemmy 
disliked  worry  equally  as  much  as  work. 
She  had  also  an  agreeable  anticipation  of 
the  envy  she  would  arouse  in  the  breasts 
of  her  old  neighbors  by  the  exhibition  of  her 
recently  acquired  finery  and  the  "pretties" 
that  would  so  transform  her  humble  abode. 

At  Baity  Treadway's  wedding,  one  of  the 
guests,  a  distant  cousin  of  the  groom,  had 
driven  over  from  the  vicinity  of  the  Tyree 
farm,  and  during  the  evening,  in  the  course 
of  a  talk  with  Zulemmy,  he  had  remarked 
that  he  had  business  that  would  take  him  on 
to  Booneville  but  that  he  would  be  passing 
the  Treadway  place  on  his  return  two  days 
later,  and  if  she  said  so,  he  would  stop  and 
take  her  back  to  her  home. 

"Yo'd  ought  to  see  how  things  is  gittin' 
along  that-a-way,"  he  said,  hardly  expecting 
that  she  would  accept  his  invitation,  she 
seemed  so  prosperous  and  happy  here.  "I 
on'y  got  a  one-seated  rig,  an'  I  got  right 
smart  o'  wool  rolls  to  take  back,  but  I  reckon 
yo'  an'  Ula  Bell  could  set  with  me,  an'  Noc 
could  crowd  in  back." 

Zulemmy  for  once  thought  quickly. 

" I  'low  Noc  could  stay  on  here,"  she  said, 
remembering  all  the  new  belongings  that 

278 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

must  not  be  left  behind.  "Somebody  '11 
be  a-comin'  over  yan  directly,  an'  kin  fotch 
him.  I  got  a  powerful  sight  o'  things  to  take." 

The  suggestion  ended  by  the  man  agreeing 
to  stop  and  take  her,  and  all  the  day  after 
the  wedding  Zulemmy  spent  in  washing  and 
ironing  for  herself  and  her  children,  and  in 
bargaining  for  a  packing  box  at  the  cross- 
roads store.  The  next  morning  she  lifted 
Noc  up  to  a  seat  behind  one  of  the  Treadway 
men  who  was  riding  to  Hollywood,  and  who 
agreed  to  drop  Noc  off  at  Patterson's  gate. 

"Yo'  tell  'em,  Noc,  'at  I'll  come  an'  fotch 
yo',  tomorry,  mebbe,"  the  stepmother  said, 
touched  by  the  pathetic  little  figure  that 
smiled  at  her  from  the  horse's  back  so  trust- 
fully, and  with  her  unfailing  good-nature, 
she  at  once  began  to  scheme  to  pack  her 
treasures  into  such  small  compass  that  there 
would  be  room  for  the  boy  to  ride  back 
home  with  her. 

After  she  had  watched  him  out  of  sight, 
she  gathered  together  all  the  clothing,  the 
pictures,  dishes,  vases  and  other  bric-a-brac 
that  had  been  gifts  from  Letitia  and  Joyce. 
She  had  seen  nothing  of  Bill  for  two  or  three 
days,  and  she  hoped  to  get  away  without 
another  of  the  encounters  that  she  had  grown 

279 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

to  dread.  If  she  now  thought  of  her  husband 
at  all,  it  was  with  a  passive  regret  for  some 
one  who  had  dropped  from  her  life;  she  had 
never  had  any  confidence  in  Letitia  Patterson's 
scheme  for  his  release. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
while  she  was  bending  over  the  packing 
box,  wrapping  the  more  fragile  articles  safely 
in  the  folds  of  the  clothing,  she  heard  a  noise 
behind  her,  and,  turning,  met  the  wild  eyes 
of  Bill  Treadway,  who  stood  in  the  door, 
one  hand  on  each  side  of  the  frame. 

"Howdy,  Bill,"  she  said  bravely  with  her 
slow  smile,  though  her  knees  trembled  and 
her  hands  shook  with  fear  at  his  savage 
expression. 

He  made  no  response,  but  stepped  forward 
into  the  room. 

One  peculiarity  of  Bill's  drinking  periods 
was  that  the  liquor,  no  matter  how  much 
of  it  he  drank,  produced  little  change  in  his 
physical  condition;  the  potency  of  it  all 
went  to  his  brain.  As  he  now  advanced, 
Zulemmy  looked  up  at  him  with  all  her 
natural  coquetry,  and  said : 

"I  ain't  never  'lowed  yo'  was  a  man  that 
'd  loaf  'round  home  in  daytime  when  there 
was  ary  thing  to  do." 

280 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

"I  got  something  to  do  all  right,"  he  re- 
joined sullenly.  "  Where's  that  gun  o'  mine  ?" 

"Yore  revolver?"  looking  at  him  with 
the  guileless  eyes  of  a  baby  and  unconsciously 
taking  advantage  of  the  opportunity  for  the 
exercise  of  the  dramatic  instinct  latent  within 
her.  "Why,  yo'  taken  hit  away  yoreself. 
Don't  yo'  remember  ?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  he  returned.  "It's  here, 
an*  I  want  it  now." 

"Weh-ell!"  she  drawled,  noting  the  savage 
flash  of  his  eyes,  and  realizing  that  there 
was  no  one  to  hear  a  call  for  help  except 
the  "contrairy"  baby-girl  in  the  next  room. 
"I  sure  'lowed  yo'  taken  hit.  Mebbe  hit's 
somewheres  'round  this-a-way.  Noc  mebbe's 
been  a-playin'  with  hit — he's  powerful  fond 
o'  thet  fittle  gun.  I'll  git  him  to  look  for  hit 
when  he  comes  back  this  evenin'." 

"You  git  it  now,"  he  said,  taking  another 
step  towards  where  she  stood.  ''You  hear? 
You  git  that  gun  for  me,  or  you'll  be  mighty 
sorry." 

Zulemmy  continued  to  stand  and  smile 
at  him,  though  her  blood  ran  cold  with  fear. 
She  wished  that  she  had  given  the  revolver 
to  David  to  keep  until  Bill  was  sober  again. 
Instinctively  she  knew  that  some  calamity 

281 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

was  to  occur  if  Bill  once  got  possession  of 
the  weapon.  She  summoned  up  all  her 
courage.  "Reckon  yo'  'low  'cause  I'm 
a-livin'  in  yore  house,  yo'  got  the  right  to 
boss  me,"  she  said  saucily.  "I  ain't  goin' 
to  stop  in  nary  house  an'  take  sech  orders  as 
those.  I'll  git  that  gun  fo'  yo'  when  I  git 
good  an'  ready,  an'  that  ain't  now." 

Bill  seized  her  by  one  shoulder  and  shook 
her. 

"Yo're  a-goin'  to  stay  in  my  house  till 
I  put  yo'  out,"  he  said  angrily,  "an'  yo're 
a-goin'  to  git  that  gun  now." 

Zulemmy,  in  spite  of  the  physical  pain 
he  caused  her,  still  tried  to  temporize:  "Thet 
so?"  she  said.  "Yo'  'low  I'll  stay  here 
till  yo'  git  that  wife  o'  yores?  Mebbe," 
with  a  glance  at  him  and  then  away,  "  mebbe, 
I  wouldn't  be  a-keerin'  ef  I  had  to  stay 
longer  'an  that." 

But  her  companion  was  deaf  to  all  her 
blandishments. 

"Damn  you!"  he  exclaimed  with  fury, 
clutching  her  shoulder  again  until  she  winced 
with  anguish.  "I  ain't  got  no  time  for  no 
sech  f oohn'.  You  git  that  gun !" 

"  Thet's  a  pretty  way  to  speak  to  a  woman, 
an*  yo'  a  so  ger,  she  retorted,  determined 

282 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

not  to  let  him  have  the  revolver.  "  Ef  them's 
the  words  yo'  speak  when  yore  a-talkin' 
to  ary  girl,  I  ain't  a-wonderin'  yo'  can't 
git  nary  one  to  hev'  yo'." 

Bill  wasted  no  more  time  in  speech.  He 
strode  past  her  and  searched  every  hiding 
place.  As  he  was  engaged  in  this,  his  eyes 
fell  on  the  half-packed  box  and  he  halted 
beside  it.  Then  he  stooped  and  picked  out 
two  of  the  pictures  that  lay  near  the  top,  and 
carried  them  to  the  stove  in  which  a  low 
fire  smoldered.  Lifting  one  of  the  lids,  he 
crushed  a  picture  between  his  hands  and 
threw  it  on  the  embers.  In  a  second  a 
tongue  of  flame  blazed  up  and  licked  the 
dry  paper  and  cardboard,  and  he  threw  the 
other  picture  in,  also,  and  returning  to  the 
box,  caught  up  a  handful  of  articles. 
Zulemmy,  horror  stricken,  rushed  to  the  stove 
and  tried  to  draw  the  burning  pictures  out, 
and  to  prevent  Bill  from  throwing  anything 
more  onto  the  fire. 

"Oh!"  she  screamed,  using  her  bare  palms 
in  her  effort  to  put  out  all  the  fire  that  re- 
mained. "Don't  do  that,  Bill!  Don't  burn 
my  pretties!  I'll  do  ary  thing  yo'  want! 
I'll— I'll  kiss  yo',  Bill!  I'll— I'll  stay  here, 
ef  yo'  want  me  to.  Oh!  Don't!"  as  another 

283 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

handful  was  crowded  into  the  stove. 

"Git  that  gun!"  he  commanded,  his  lips 
drawn  back  and  his  teeth  showing  in  a  savage 
grin. 

The  woman  who  could  endure  physical 
pain  without  flinching  was  not  proof  against 
the  destruction  of  her  treasures.  Slowly  she 
backed  away  from  the  stove,  her  eyes  riveted 
on  the  hand  that  still  held  some  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  box,  found  the  hiding  place  of 
the  revolver  and  laid  it  on  the  window-sill 
without  a  word.  Bill  tossed  the  articles 
he  still  held  in  his  hand  to  the  bed,  caught 
up  his  weapon  and  started  for  the  door, 
while  Zulemmy  sank  upon  the  floor  in  a 
passion  of  tears  and  sobs.  Her  deep  distress 
touched  a  chord  in  the  man's  nature  that  her 
coquetry  had  missed. 

*  Don't  you  be  a-cryin'  so,  honey,"  he  said, 
coming  back  to  her  side.  "You  jes'  stay 
on  here  an'  be  a  good  girl,  an'  I'll  get  you 
nicer  things  than  he  ever  give  yo'." 

Zulemmy  refused  to  answer  or  to  look  up, 
and  Bill,  after  a  few  moments,  left  the  cabin 
and  stole  off  down  the  road  and  into  the 
woods.  When  she  was  sure  she  was  alone,  she 
rose  and  hastily  collected  everything  that  had 
been  scattered  about  and  stuffed  them  into 

284 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  box.  Then  she  went  after  a  wheel- 
barrow that  stood  outside  the  lean-to  and 
pushed  it  up  to  the  door,  and  after  much 
frenzied  manipulation,  managed  to  lift  the 
box  on  to  it.  Ula  Bell  had  been  loudly  wailing 
for  some  time,  and  her  mother  now  went  and 
comforted  her,  and  carried  her  down  to  the 
nearest  of  the  Treadway  homes.  Here  she 
related  her  pitful  tale:  "Bill  was  crazy 
drunk,  an'  had  come  an'  ben  a-throwin'  her 
pretties  into  the  fire,  an'  she  was  scared  to 
stay  up  thar  alone  fer  fear  he'd  come  back." 

The  one  of  Bill's  sisters-in-law  to  whom 
she  happened  to  appeal  was  a  middle-aged 
woman  from  another  section  of  the  state, 
with  gaunt  features  and  a  mouth  in  which 
all  of  the  front  teeth  on  the  upper  jaw  were 
gone,  and  those  on  the  corresponding  part 
of  the  lower  jaw  were  abnormally  long, 
who  had  often  been  the  butt  of  Bill's  raillery 
and  heartily  disliked  him.  She  was  full 
of  sympathy  for  Zulemmy,  and  went  with 
her  to  push  the  wheelbarrow  and  its  load 
down  the  slope.  For  some  reason  Zulemmy 
made  no  mention  of  the  revolver. 

"'Low  yo've  ben  a-hevin'  more'n  yore 
sheer  o'  trouble  lately,"  she  said  kindly, 
as  she  closed  the  door  of  the  small  cabin, 

285 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

after  they  had  removed  the  last  of  Zulemmy's 
things  from  it.  "Mebbe  yo've  brung  hit 
on  yoreself,  Mis'  Tyree,  but  I  don't  jedge 
no  one.  Folks  thet's  got  more'n  their  sheer 
o'  good  looks  is  always  lackin'  in  good  sense, 
I  reckon." 

On  the  following  morning,  true  to  his  word, 
the  man  from  her  home  neighborhood  stopped 
at  the  Tread  way  bars,  and  found  Zulemmy 
awaiting  him  there.  Possibly  he  had  not 
calculated  on  the  size  of  the  load  he  was  to 
transport,  for  he  seemed  rather  gruff,  and 
when  asked  to  turn  back  and  get  Noc,  he 
refused  outright. 

"Then  ^o'  send  'em  word  thet  he  kin 
stay  thar  till  some  one  comes-by  for  him," 
said  Zulemmy  to  her  hostess  of  the  previous 
night.  "  An'  tell  'em  to  come  an'  fotch  away 
their  things  from  thet  cabin  ary  time  they 
wants  to." 

Mrs.  Tread  way  agreed  to  give  these  mes- 
sages, and  she  also  helped  the  man  lift  the 
box  and  bundles  into  me  wagon-box,  while 
Zulemmy  with  Ula  Bell  in  her  arms  climbed 
up  to  me  seat.  Before  the  wagon  started 
the  same  soft-hearted,  plain-visaged  woman 
slipped  some  windfall  apples  and  a  few 
slices  of  bacon  and  cold  corn-pone  into  the 

286 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

driver's  pockets.  "'Low  the  little  gal  an* 
yo-all  '11  DC  some  hungry  afore  yo'  gits  to  ary 
eatin'  place,"  she  said  hospitably,  and  stood, 
with  her  hideous  black  sun-bonnet  drawn 
down  over  her  forehead,  waving  a  knuckled 
hand  at  them  as  they  drove  away. 

"She'll  be  a-rollin'  them  black  eyes  o* 
hers  at  him,  an'  like  as  not,  he'll  be  a-talkin* 
foolish  afore  they  gits  to  Bear  Track,"  she 
said  to  herself.  And  as  she  walked  back 
to  her  door,  rubbing  the  arms  that  ached 
with  the  weight  of  the  box  she  had  helped 
lift,  she  added  as  if  excusing  her  kindness: 
"Some  humans  is  bornd  to  wait  on  an'  some 
is  bornd  to  be  waited  on,  an'  thar  ain't  nary 
mite  o*  use  a-fightin'  'gainst  thet,  I  reckon." 


287 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN  Bruce  Patterson  left  the  penitentiary, 
he  went  at  once  to  the  office  of  a  friend  in 
the  legal  profession,  and  put  into  his  hands 
a  brief  memorandum  of  the  details  to  be 
embodied  in  the  will  that  was  to  be  drawn 
up  for  Judson  Tyree's  signature.  This 
errand  finished,  he  started  for  the  Capitol 
building,  as  it  was  his  wish  to  see  the  Governor 
at  once,  and  renew  his  fealty  to  the  cause 
he  had  so  weakly  deserted,  and  to  bind  himself 
irrevocably  to  a  definite  future  course;  but 
the  reaction  from  the  strain  of  those  awful 
fears  and  doubts  that  had  just  been  quelled, 
added  to  the  wakeful  hours  of  the  previous 
night,  had  resulted  in  a  demand  for  sleep  that 
was  uncontrollable,  and  he  hastened  back 
to  the  hotel,  threw  himself  on  his  bed  and 
sank  at  once  into  slumber  so  profound  that  it 
was  like  veritable  coma. 

When  he  awoke,  hours  later,  the  day  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  as  it  was  past  the 
time  for  the  departure  of  the  homebound 
train,  he  sent  a  telegraphic  message  to  his 
wife  that  he  would  return  the  following 

288 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

evening.  After  he  had  eaten  his  supper, 
the  languor  induced  by  a  long  daytime  nap 
clung  to  him,  and  stepping  out  to  the  wide 
porch  of  the  hotel,  he  drew  a  chair  into  a 
quiet  corner  and  sat  down.  A  group  of  men 
seated  near  him,  most  of  whom  were  known 
to  him  personally,  were  engrossed  with  the 
perusal  of  their  evening  papers  that  had 
lust  arrived  from  the  state  metropolis,  and 
he  noticed,  as  he  lighted  a  cigar,  that  their 
eyes  wandered  from  the  papers  they  read 
to  where  he  sat.  Finally  one  of  them  ap- 
proached him. 

"That  was  a  most  remarkable  interview 
you  had  in  the  prison  this  morning,  Mr. 
Patterson,"  he  said  tentatively,  holding  out 
the  paper  he  had  brought  with  him,  and 
drawing  a  chair  nearer  the  side  of  the  man 
he  addressed. 

Bruce  looked  surprised  at  being  thus  ac- 
costed, and  the  man  thrust  the  journal  into 
his  hands.  "They  have  an  account  of  it 
in  here,"  he  said.  "Those  prison  guards 
probably  all  earn  something  on  the  side 
by  acting  as  reporters,  and  it  was  telephoned 
to  the  city  in  time  for  them  to  rush  it  into 
their  late  edition." 

Bruce  took  the  paper  and  glanced  through. 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

the  article  pointed  out  to  him.  He  frowned 
as  he  read  one  or  two  gross  misstatements, 
but  as  he  handed  the  sheet  back  to  its  owner, 
he  only  said  quietly : 

"The  facts  as  published  are  practically 
correct." 

"I  should  think  that  confession  must  have 
been  a  godsend  to  you,"  his  companion 
suggested,  after  they  had  smoked  in  silence 
for  a  time.  "I  was  mightily  astonished 
when  I  heard  you  were  serving  as  juror  in 
one  of  those  mountain  murder  cases.  By 
George!  I'd  never  let  them  get  me  on  a 
jury  where  the  case  to  be  tried  was  one  of 
homicide,  'specially  down  there.  I'd  be  afraid 
I'd  be  haunted  or  be  mixed  up  in  feud-fights 
all  the  rest  of  my  life  whichever  way  I  decided. 
Trial  by  jury  is  practically  played  out  anyway. 
It's  hard  to  get  a  man  of  even  ordinary 
intelligence  to  serve  as  a  juror  nowadays. 
The  counsel  for  both  sides  spin  it  out  so  long, 
and  introduce  all  sorts  of  irrelevant  matter, 
not  to  speak  of  their  personal  quarrels  in 
open  court,  and  their  endless  objections 
and  exceptions.  A  business  man  just  can't 
afford  to  sit  on  a  jury — that's  about  the 
size  of  it." 

Bruce    hardly    heard    these    words.       His 

290 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

thoughts  were  on  the  published  account  of 
the  conversation  between  Tyree  and  himself. 
There  were  several  subscribers  to  this  paper 
in  Hollywood  besides  himself,  and  this  column 
with  its  flaring  head-lines  would  be  read  there 
— Letitia  herself  would  read  it.  It  was  for- 
tunate that  he  had  not  returned  to  his  home 
that  day,  for  now  there  would  be  no  need 
of  any  words  on  the  subject  between  them. 
With  other  errors  of  the  past,  it  should  all 
be  blotted  from  remembrance  and  a  new 
start  should  be  made  in  their  wedded  life. 

The  following  morning  he  returned  to 
the  lawyer's  office,  read  the  draft  of  the 
will  that  was  to  be  sent  to  the  prison  for 
Tyree  to  sign,  and  was  instructed  as  to  what 
steps  would  be  necessary  to  take  in  case  he 
should  decide  to  legally  adopt  Noc.  Then 
after  writing  a  long  letter  to  Governor  Redfern, 
which  he  hoped  might  make  a  subsequent 
interview  less  harrowing  to  them  both,  he 
boarded  the  train  for  home.  As  he  rode 
into  the  mountains,  it  was  with  almost  a 
boy's  exultation  that  he  looked  back  upon 
what  the  past  two  days  had  accomplished 
for  him  and  others.  There  was  no  longer 
a  possibility  that  an  innocent  man  might 
suffer  the  death  of  a  criminal,  and  he  was 

291 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

confident  that  maudlin  sympathy  for  Tyree 
would  be  misplaced.  With  that  threat  of 
the  Christiansons,  father  and  son,  hanging 
over  him,  and  the  other  "  tanglemints '  in 
which  he  was  involved,  Tyree's  resignation 
to  the  punishment  the  law  nad  meted  out  to 
him  was  not  unnatural. 

As  the  engine  pulled  into  one  after  another 
of  the  small  stations,  Bruce  fancied  he  could 
see  the  old  friendliness  in  the  faces  of  the 
loafing  men,  who  lounged  up  to  the  train 
and  called  their  "  howdy V  to  him.  At 
Hollywood  he  was  surrounded  as  he  stepped 
from  the  car  by  men  who  pressed  him  closely 
with  questions  regarding  the  published  report 
of  his  visit  to  the  prison,  but  it  was  done 
in  a  spirit  of  interested  kindliness — these 
brothers  of  the  mountains  meant  to  con- 
gratulate him,  not  to  criticise. 

Again  he  passed  over  the  old  river  road, 
and  again  his  mind  was  aglow  with  the  great 
possibilities  for  the  future  of  his  native  land. 
He  could  behold  the  fulfilment  of  the  proph- 
ecy that  from  this  soil  there  might,  in  time, 
spring  the  flower  of  civilization.  There  was 
much  that  he  could  do  to  further  that  end. 
There  was  his  place  in  the  political  arena 
that  must  no  longer  be  vacant;  there  were 

292 


.    The  Twelfth  Juror 

David  Carroll's  schemes  for  the  betterment 
of  his  lumbermen  that  could  be  aided  and 
supplemented  by  a  like  endeavor  for  his 
miners.  He  hoped  that  the  future  would 
reveal  to  David  and  Joyce  their  mutual  need 
of  each  other,  for  he  felt  that  they  would 
be  truly  mated.  The  knowledge  that  here- 
after he  would  have  charge  of  the  development 
and  training  of  a  young  boy  quickened  his 
pulse,  for  he  loved  all  children  and  Noc  had 
already  won  his  heart.  He  rejoiced  that  he 
was  still  young,  that  so  much  of  life  lay  ahead 
of  him. 

With  light  feet  he  turned  from  the  river 
bank  into  the  road  leading  up  the  mountain. 
Beyond  and  above  him  stood  the  giant  tree 
that  marked  the  second  turning,  its  enormous 
trunk  screening  all  that  lay  behind  it,  its 
gnarled,  twisted  roots  rising  like  serpents 
above  the  sandy  soil.  He  could  not  see  the 
figure  that  had  crouched  hidden  here  the 
previous  night  until  the  cocks  had  signalled 
the  coming  of  morn,  and  that  had  returned 
to  the  same  spot  an  hour  before  to  again 
listen  and  wait. 

Just  before  Bruce  reached  this  tree,  he 
thought  he  heard  a  movement  in  the  under- 
brush by  the  roadside,  like  that  of  a  small 

293 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

animal  scurrying  to  cover.     He  halted,  bent 
his  head  and  peered  into  the  shadows. 

There  was  a  sharp  report  like  the  snapping 
of  a  dry  twig,  a  flash  of  light  and  a  curl  of 
smoke; — then  a  groan  and  a  long,  shuddering 
sigh — and    the    tall,    lithe    figure    that    had 
swung    so    easily    over    the    road    suddenly 
stumbled,  stooped  forward,  and  then  sank— 
slowly — slowly — until    after    one    convulsive 
movement,  it  lay  face  downward,  a  huddled 
inert  mass  between  the  writhing  tree-roots. 
#          $          $          4          4*          &          £ 

The  journal  with  its  account  of  the  inter- 
view between  the  prisoner  Tyree  and  the 
twelfth  juror  reached  Hollywood  on  the 
morning  after  its  publication,  and  was  carried 
with  the  other  mail,  and  the  telegram  from 
her  husband  (held  in  the  local  office  until 
some  one  could  conveniently  deliver  it)  to 
Letitia.  She  read  the  latter  with  an  ejacula- 
tion of  impatience,  for  in  her  self-centered 
fashion  she  loved  Bruce  and  was  weary 
of  his  absence  from  her.  After  she  had 
looked  through  the  letters,  she  carelessly 
opened  the  paper  and  ran  hastily  through 
its  columns.  The  local  news  had  little  interest 
for  her,  but  she  liked  to  read  the  foreign 
telegrams,  and  occasionally  the  editorials  en- 

294 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

tertained  her.  After  some  moments  of  desul- 
tory search,  her  eye  was  arrested  by  the 
printed  name  of  her  husband,  and  the  report- 
er's version  of  Tyree's  confession  was  grasped 
by  cold,  icy  fingers  as  she  read  it.  It  was 
brief,  but  long  moments  fled  as  she  sat  staring 
at  that  one  paragraph  that  was  branding 
itself  on  her  mind.  At  last  the  paper  slipped 
to  the  floor,  but  she  still  sat  looking  out 
into  vacancy.  She  was  conscious  of  the  one 
fact — she  had  been  wrong.  After  these 
weeks  of  frenzied  endeavor  in  a  cause  of 
which— she  acknowledged  to  herself — she  had 
been  practically  ignorant,  she  was  forced 
to  admit  that  she  had  been  mistaken  in  her 
judgment.  There  was  none  to  share  the 
mortification  with  her — her  own  actions,  her 
own  words  had  placed  her  in  a  position  where 
no  denial  would  avail.  With  burning  eyes 
she  looked  across  the  green  stretches  of 
field  and  forest.  How  she  hated  it  all! 
This  mountain  dwelling,  bare  and  crude, 
that  even  her  artistic  taste  and  skill  had 
failed  to  transform  into  what  in  her  mind 
stood  for  a  comfortable  habitation;  these 
long-isolated  people  and  their  primitive  cus- 
toms, their  lack  of  enterprise  and  their  un- 
reasoning optimism!  Yes,  she  hated  it; 

295 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

Bruce  must  be  induced  to  leave  it! 

Towards  evening  she  dressed  herself  with 
more  than  ordinary  care  and  as  she  came 
down  the  stairway  to  await  the  arrival  of 
her  husband,  she  looked  exquisitely  dainty 
and  fair;  but  her  ears  were  scarlet  with 
excitement  and  her  strange  eyes  gleamed. 

Down  in  the  ravine  at  one  side  of  the  house, 
she  could  see  David  Carroll  and  Mary  Joyce 
sitting  together  in  the  wide  swing.  From 
the  kitchen  window  floated  strains  of  an 
old  plantation  song  hummed  by  Aunt  Philomee 
as  she  bustled  about  some  extra  cookery 
in  honor  of  the  home-coming  of  the  master. 
Under  the  trees  Noc  and  Meh  Lady  romped 
merrily  together. 

As  the  hour  for  the  arrival  of  the  train 
grew  near,  Letitia  became  more  and  more 
nervous;  a  new,  strange  timidity  had  seized 
her.  She  walked  restlessly  about  the  porches, 
not  wishing  to  intrude  on  the  two  young 
persons  in  the  swing,  whose  heads  were 
closely  bent  as  they  examined  some  large 

Eapers.     No  confidence  had  yet  been  made 
er,    but   she   knew   from    Joyce's   face   and 
David's   manner  that   they   shared   a  tender 
secret.     She  was  glad  of  it,  for  this  new  bond 
would  insure  her  the  closer  companionship 

296 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

of  her  husband.  She  would  have  mocked  at 
the  suggestion  that  jealousy  in  any  degree 
colored  her  attitude,  yet  she  hotly  resented 
every  interest  that  drew  Bruce's  attention 
from  her. 

Aunt  Philomee  waddled  from  her  kitchen 
door  to  ask  how  soon  Bruce  might  be  expected. 

"Very  soon  now,  Aunty,"  Letitia  replied 
with  unusual  graciousness.  "  I  saw  the  smoke 
from  the  train  curling  over  the  mountain 
several  minutes  ago,  so  it  is  on  time  tonight. 
Are  you  making  something  nice  for  supper?" 

"Well,"  drawled  the  old  negress,  antagon- 
ism banished  for  the  time  by  the  pervading 
atmosphere  of  joyous  expectancy:  "I  ain' 
sayin'  des  how  good  it  gwine  be.  I  bin 
a-stirrin'  up  what  I  felt  like  might  temp' 
him.  He  ain'  bin  eatin'  'nough  to  hahm 
him  dese  las'  weeks,  an'  dar  ain'  no  sense 
in  a-frazzlin'  a  body's  life  out  fo'  folks  dat 
do'  know  if  dey  is  eatin'  jowl  an'  greens 
or  johnny-cake."  As  she  spoke  she  walked 
to  the  end  of  the  porch  and  glanced  down 
at  the  two  in  the  swing  and  chuckled  tri- 
umphantly. "Huh!  I  suah  did  conjuh  dat 
bride-cake,"  she  said.  Shading  her  eyes  with 
her  hand,  she  peered  down  the  road.  "Heah! 
You  Noc!  You  come  heah!"  she  called 

297 


The  Twelfth  Juror 

to  the  boy  who  still  played  with  the  dog. 
"You-all  spry  eh  dan  me.  Des  climb'  up 
on  dis  yere  rail,  an'  look  between  de  fork  o' 
dose  branches  an'  see  ef  dar  ain'  a  somebody 
a-comin'  erlong  dat  road." 

"  Is  hit  Uncle  Bruce  ?"  asked  the  boy, 
as  he  ran  quickly  to  her.  "Is  Unc'  Bruce 
a-comin'  home  this  evenin'  ?"  using  the  name 
that  Joyce  had  taught  him. 

Letitia  had  drawn  near,  and  now  laid 
a  hand  on  one  of  the  child's  shoulders  and 
shifted  his  position.  "You  are  not  looking 
in  the  right  direction,  Noc,"  she  said  gently. 
''There!  Look  over  there,  between  the  trees. 
Do  you  see  any  one  on  the  road  ?"  and  with 
her  hand  still  clasping  the  small  shoulder, 
she  leaned  far  forward. 

So  they  watched  and  waited  for  him. 


298 


UC  SOUTHERN 


A    000115563     9 


